The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (18 page)

The house was big and there would be lots of rooms to search. Judd wasted no time. He went straight up to the front door and kicked it open. I drew my sword and followed him inside. We found ourselves in a small entrance hall with three doors leading off it. He chose the central one. Despite the fact that there was no obvious lock, he used his left boot again and went in fast. We found ourselves in a large drawing room. I looked around, surprised: County witches usually lived in hovels, with unwashed pots and dishes, cobwebbed ceilings and filthy floors, a pile of bones – some of them human – lying in a corner. But this room had been meticulously cleaned and was expensively furnished. I saw paintings of strange landscapes – possibly in Romania: one showed a castle on a high hill rising above green forests. There were two comfortable chairs and a settee placed close to a fire, where the ashes still glowed in the grate. On the mantelpiece above stood three candlesticks; the candles were of best quality beeswax rather than the black ones favoured by the Pendle witches (who used the blood of their victims mixed with cheap tallow from animal fat).

But the inhabitants of this house were witches all right –
creatures
of the dark – and the familiar cold warning moved down my spine.

There was a door to the right at the far end of the room. Judd went over and kicked that open too. There wasn’t much light, but over his shoulder I could just make out a large bed draped with a purple silken cover. Somebody lay sleeping there. Judd raised his axe and prepared to bring it down hard and fast.

Suddenly I sensed that something was wrong.

The witch wasn’t in the bed; she was
under
it.

She was upon us in an instant, all teeth and claws.

HER CLAWS WERE
just inches from Judd’s left leg when I stabbed downwards with the sword, transfixing her through the heart and pinning her, face down, to the floorboards.

The witch struggled desperately to free herself, growling deep in her throat, spitting blood, and shaking her long matted hair from side to side. Her long-taloned hands clenched and unclenched, and she twisted her head to look up at me, ill-wishing me with her venomous eyes.

I had seen hideous water witches and shuddered at the ugliest of the Pendle hags, but this was a terrifying sight indeed. The witch’s skin was coarse, with clusters of hairy
warts
sprouting like fungi all over her face, and when she opened her mouth in a growl, I saw that her canines were two black tusks protruding down over her bottom lip.

Then she reached round to her back, gripping the blade, cutting her fingers to the bone as she desperately tried to pull it out of her body. But the growls turned to gurgling, choking noises, and blood began to spurt from her mouth to splatter on the floor. I held fast to the sword, pushing it harder into the wood. Judd put the matter beyond doubt when he brought down the axe to sever her head from her body.

‘Good man!’ he cried. ‘You were fast enough that time. Oldest trick in the book!’ He drew back the bedcover to show the two pillows artfully arranged to suggest the contours of a body. ‘She must have been awake even before I kicked down the first door.’

I pulled the sword free and wiped it on the bedcover, then returned it to its scabbard. Judd had used an axe and I a sword – and the thought came to me that it was unusual to have two spooks fighting without staffs. But we had to adapt to the circumstances.

‘We need to make sure she doesn’t come back from the dead,’ I said. ‘Do the usual methods work for Romanian witches?’

Judd shook his head. ‘Eating the heart is useless with this lot, but burning works. However, it’s usually at least a month before they can reanimate their bodies. If we kill them all, we can burn them in their own houses long before then.’

Suddenly the room became even gloomier and we looked towards the window. Judd dashed across and drew back the
curtain
. When we’d entered the house the sky had been blue, but now rain clouds were racing across the sky, which was growing darker by the second.

We hurried out of the witch’s bedroom and stopped just outside the front door. A flash of lightning lit the sky to the north, to be answered by a deep rumble of thunder a couple of seconds later.

‘This isn’t a natural storm,’ Judd said. ‘They must all be awake and alert by now. When they work together, Romanian witches can raise the wind and darken the skies. They probably know what we’ve done.’

The next moment a fork of lightning split the sky; the thunder was deafening and almost instantaneous. In the eerie silence that followed, we both heard the noises. Twigs cracked, footsteps shuffled through the grass; unseen things were approaching through the trees from more than one direction.

‘Run, Tom – this way!’ Judd cried, sprinting down the hill towards the river. I obeyed without question, hot on his heels. I could sense our enemies closing in on all sides. My greatest fear was that the other witches would project themselves after us in the form of orbs. It wasn’t night-time, but it might be gloomy enough for them to venture forth.

However, we were soon running through the narrow streets, the rain beginning to drum on the cobbles. There were other noises coming from the direction of the bridge. When we reached the trees, we saw half a dozen men with axes on the far bank, attacking the bridge supports.

‘Stop that!’ Judd cried. ‘Stop now!’

The men simply ignored him and continued with their work. We ran faster, but before we reached the bank, with a groan and a crash, the bridge fell into the river. For a moment the wreckage remained attached to our side, but then the whole rotten structure collapsed into the water, where it was instantly broken into pieces and swept downstream.

The men on the far bank waved their axes at us threateningly. ‘Stay on that side!’ one shouted. ‘You’re a danger to us all. You’re not wanted here. Cross at your peril!’

Why had they cut down the bridge now? Was it to trap us on the eastern bank so that the witches and daemons could seize us more easily? Were they were trying to appease them? I wondered.

Judd spoke into my ear, keeping his voice low. ‘They’ll soon get fed up and clear off – we just need to be patient. There’s no need for anybody to get hurt. They’re scared, that’s all.’

He was right. If we forced our way across the river, the men looked desperate enough to put up a fight. So we sat down on a log, each lost in his thoughts, while they glared at us from the far bank.

We’d escaped for now, but I felt dejected. I had done nothing to help my master, and now we had alerted the witches. They would be ready for us next time.

After a while Judd’s prediction proved correct. The men shouted a few curses at us, then headed off through the trees towards the huddle of houses. We gave it another five minutes, then scrambled down the muddy bank and found a place to cross; years ago, no doubt, it had been a ford. Then, our breeches
soaked
to the knee, we made our way directly towards the inn, ready for trouble. I doubted we’d seen the last of the townsfolk.

‘Grab some sleep before supper, Tom,’ Judd said. ‘Once it’s dark, anything can happen. We may not even be safe on this side of the river.’

I tried to sleep but just dozed intermittently. My mind was whirling with all that had happened during the past few days. I couldn’t see any way to salvage our situation.

It was then that I suddenly started to think about Alice again. I wondered if she’d managed to find Grimalkin. I just hoped she’d kept her promise and hadn’t gone off into the dark without talking to me first. But one part of me was glad she hadn’t come to Todmorden with us: she would be in terrible danger here. The other part was desperate for her help and company. She’d got me out of tight situations before and had saved my life more than once.

I decided to use the mirror on the bedside table to try and contact her again, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than it suddenly lit up. I realized why thoughts of Alice had come into my mind. She was trying to contact me. A moment later her face was smiling at me from the mirror, but then she looked concerned and began to write quickly with her finger. The text appeared backwards, but we’d used this method of communication many times and I was well practised at reading it.

She had guessed that I was in trouble because our return to Chipenden was long overdue. We should have been back two days ago. Suddenly my need overcame my reluctance to draw her into danger, so I knelt in front of the bedside table, breathed on the mirror, and wrote with my forefinger. I did it very slowly, doing my best to make it legible. And I chose my words carefully. I didn’t say that my master was dead because I wanted to break that news to her face to face. There would be time for explanations later.

A daemon took my master  . . . 

Then, to save time, I wiped the mirror with the back of my hand, put my face close to it and started to mouth words. I did it in an exaggerated way to make it easier to understand:

‘The daemon is powerful and has many allies. We are in great danger. Help me if you can. Get here as soon as you can or it may be too late  . . . ’

I hated the thought of bringing Alice into danger, but I knew that she could make all the difference. However, I also thought about her use of dark magic. On our journey back across Ireland she had experienced pain every time we crossed a bridge over running water, and it had been hard to hide the fact from my master. I’d complained when she’d given Agnes Sowerbutts strength – so asking her to help now made me feel like a hypocrite, and I knew that it would have upset my master. But sometimes, in order to survive, we’d had to use the powers of the dark in order to overcome it.

Before Alice could reply, the mirror suddenly went dark. I waited, expecting her to re-establish contact – but in vain. Suddenly a terrifying thought came into my head. What if Alice had already found Grimalkin and was bringing the witch assassin with her? The Romanian forces wanted the Fiend’s head. If the sack was here, their task would be made far easier. I should have remembered that and warned Alice, but I’d expected our conversation to be longer than this. I held the mirror and called Alice’s name, but there was no response.

After a while I gave up and went to knock on Judd’s door. He came out yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘Time for supper?’ he asked.

I frowned. ‘Can’t say that I’m very hungry.’

‘Neither am I, Tom,’ Judd said, ‘but we need to keep up our strength. It could be a long, dangerous night.’

‘My master never ate much when facing the dark,’ I pointed out.

Judd nodded and gave me a wry smile. ‘I remember it well – a few nibbles of County cheese was all he allowed us. Some nights I was so hungry, my belly thought my throat had been cut.’

We went downstairs to be served supper by the fire by the surly innkeeper. It was tough cold mutton and stale bread, and I found it difficult to swallow. I was nervous about what might happen when night fell. Judd had no appetite either. After a while the landlord came back to collect our plates.

‘How long have you lived in Todmorden?’ I asked, trying to draw him into conversation and learn more about the town.

He shrugged. ‘More years than I care to remember. I was born here, and no doubt I’ll die here. But I mind my own business – and so should you. I’m off to bed now,’ he told us with a scowl.

We weren’t going to get any information from him, and I was glad to see the back of him. As soon as he’d clumped upstairs, Judd and I were able to talk more freely. I began to tell him about Alice – and some of the things she’d done in the past.