The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (19 page)

‘I’ll bet John Gregory found most of that difficult to stomach – even worse than our supper!’ he joked. ‘I find it hard to believe that he’d ally himself with the dark. I’ve never known any other man with such strong principles.’

‘He had little choice,’ I explained. ‘It was a question of survival – but he found it difficult all right. Alice might just be able to find what we’re looking for, though. She could sniff my master out – lead us straight to the place where they’re keeping his head.’

‘That’s certainly true. They’ll be ready for us, but if we know precisely where to go, we can get in and out quickly,’ he agreed.

The hours passed and there was no sign of the anticipated attack. But just before dawn we heard a sudden loud hammering at the front door of the inn.

Judd rose to his feet and readied his axe. I drew my sword, wondering what to do for the best. We had no intention of opening the door, and I was sure that the innkeeper would not do so before the sun came up. Was it better to wait for them to break it down or take the fight to them outside? Then I heard a sash window being raised upstairs.

‘You have two within your walls who have committed crimes against my people!’ a woman’s voice cried out. ‘Surrender them to us so they may be punished!’

I saw a look of pain flicker across Judd’s face, and suddenly recognized the voice calling up to the window. It was Mistress Fresque. I could see that Judd was determined to leave the inn and confront the daemon who was using her body.

‘No!’ I said, grabbing his arm to restrain him. ‘There may be other strigoica concealed nearby.’

He nodded and relaxed a little. Then the innkeeper called out: ‘It will be done before nightfall. We will keep to the pact, don’t you worry.’

‘A
pact
?’ Judd said, raising his eyebrows. ‘I wonder what that’s all about  . . .  I think that surly fellow upstairs has a few questions to answer!’

We heard the innkeeper slam the window shut, and sat by the embers of the fire, waiting for him to come downstairs.

When he appeared, he was dressed in a jacket and scarf. He seemed surprised to see us sitting by the hearth. No doubt he’d thought we were fast asleep in bed.

‘I have to go out,’ he blustered. ‘I’ll be back within the hour to attend to your breakfasts.’

But before he could reach the door, Judd had intercepted him, laying a firm hand on his arm and leading him towards the fireplace. ‘I don’t think you’ll be going out until later. We have a few questions to put to you!’ he said, pushing him down into a chair.

The innkeeper looked up at Judd with frightened eyes.

‘We heard you talking to the daemon!’ Judd accused him.

‘Daemon? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Do you deny that you were talking to Mistress Fresque? We heard every word. So tell us – what’s this “pact” you have with her?’

The innkeeper stared up at him but didn’t reply.

Judd raised the axe as if he meant to bring it down on the man’s head. ‘Talk or die!’ he commanded. ‘I’m a desperate man, and the way things are at the moment, I don’t expect to live much longer. If necessary, I’ll take you with me. What’s the pact?’

‘It’s an agreement we have with the foreigners on the other side of the river. It’s what keeps us safe and stops them from eating us  . . . ’

‘Go on – tell me more,’ Judd commanded when the man hesitated. ‘What’s your side of the bargain?’

‘Every week we supply them with three cartloads of offal and animal blood from the surrounding farms. We leave it in sacks and barrels on this side of the river, and they come across after dark to collect it.’

So this was where they got their supplies for the offal pit. They no doubt fed themselves and their prisoners from the same source. The pact also probably explained why the orbs of the witches hadn’t pursued us over the bridge.

‘So in return they leave you alone?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they don’t kill humans on this side of the river. But we must stay indoors after dark – they sometimes pass through
our
streets to journey elsewhere. They’re making maps of the County to the west of here.’

‘Maps!’ Judd exclaimed. ‘You fool! Don’t you see what’s happening? They’re charting the County to decide how best to seek out more victims! Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re selling the lives of your fellows so that you may live. And now you plan to hand us over for the same selfish purpose. Don’t deny it because we heard every word! You’re not going anywhere. You can stay here and cook us some breakfast instead – and we want something better than what you served up last night.’

‘But if we do nothing before night falls, the pact will be at an end. They’ll slaughter us all!’ the landlord cried.

‘Let us worry about that,’ Judd replied. ‘Some of the townsfolk have destroyed the bridge – so isn’t the pact over already? If so, it’s time to fight for your lives.’

‘The bridge can be replaced. Once they have you, things will return to normal – they’ve promised us.’

‘
Normal!
You call that “normal”, you fool!’ Judd shouted. ‘Just get out of my sight! Breakfast – that’s what you need to concern yourself with. Make it quick.’

The innkeeper scurried off with a fearful backward glance at Judd, who immediately spoke quietly into my ear so that he couldn’t be overheard: ‘When do you reckon the girl will get here?’

‘Well before sunset,’ I replied. ‘She’ll have been travelling through the night.’

‘Then I see it this way, Tom. As soon as she arrives, we can get
her
to sniff out what’s left of your poor master. We’ll collect his remains and head straight back to Chipenden, where we can muster help as best we can. We might even have to enlist the services of the military.’

What Judd was saying made sense. We were hopelessly outnumbered. We
did
need the military. But would they listen and intervene? I wondered.

The innkeeper had just starting frying our breakfast when there was another thumping on the door. We went to the window and saw about two dozen of the townsfolk outside. They looked desperate and angry; some were armed with clubs. No doubt Mistress Fresque had told them of the situation. Either that or they’d heard what she’d shouted up at the window.

‘Open up!’ they shouted. ‘Do it now or we’ll break down the door.’

We didn’t bother to reply. There was no point in trying to reason with a terrified mob. After a while they withdrew down the street, but then I saw them approaching the inn again. This time they were carrying a heavy battering ram – a stout cylindrical log with brass ends. I didn’t think the door would stand up to that, and I was quickly proved correct.

‘One! Two! Three!’ someone shouted – and on ‘three’ there was a tremendous thud as the battering ram struck the door. It buckled under the force of the blow, and the crash brought the innkeeper running in from the kitchen. It wouldn’t be long before the lock gave way. What then? It was one thing to use my sword against dark entities; quite another to attack terrified
men
who were no doubt fathers, brothers and sons.

The innkeeper ran forward as if to open the door and let the men in, but Judd seized him by the collar and held him in an arm-lock.

I was at war with myself, not sure what to do for the best. I drew my sword anyway. If taken prisoner, we would end up in the pits, food for the strigoii.

The second blow to the door was louder than the first. It groaned, and a shower of plaster fell down from the ceiling.

‘Don’t have much respect for your property, do they?’ Judd commented, but the innkeeper remained tight-lipped.

In the intervals between each blow the air was filled with curses and shouts. The men sounded desperate, and it was only a matter of time before the door gave way.

At the fifth attempt, it crashed inwards and we stood facing our attackers. We stared at them in silence, but then I heard the sudden barking of dogs in the distance. There was something familiar about the sound that caught my attention; something I recognized. It was the distinctive hunting calls of Claw, Blood and Bone.

It must be Alice. She had brought the dogs with her!

The men turned nervously, and suddenly scattered. I knew that the three wolfhounds were a fearsome sight, but the men seemed terrified beyond reason. We stepped out onto the cobbled street, and moments later I realized why.

Alice was accompanied by someone else – Grimalkin, the witch assassin. She was running towards us, black mouth agape to reveal sharp filed teeth. Blades hung from the leather
straps
that criss-crossed her lithe body, and she clutched a dagger in each hand. It was fortunate that the townsfolk had fled. She looked ready to kill.

I would normally have welcomed her as a formidable ally, but she was carrying the Fiend’s head in the leather sack over her shoulder. She had come to the one place that should have been avoided at all costs.

This was exactly where the Romanian dark entities wanted her.

This was a trap.

WE STOOD ASIDE
to let the pair in, followed by the dogs, then closed the door as best we could and sat around the largest of the inn’s tables.

The innkeeper kept glancing at Grimalkin, clearly terrified, but he served us a hot breakfast, heaping our plates with ham, eggs and fried bread until we could eat no more.

‘What about the dogs?’ I said to him. ‘They’ve travelled a long way and need feeding too.’

For a moment he hesitated, but then Grimalkin glared at him, opening her mouth to show her sharp pointy teeth. His hands began to tremble and he hurried away, returning with scraps of meat for the dogs.

While we ate, I made the introductions and explained the situation in Todmorden, relating everything that had happened since I left Chipenden with my master and Judd.

When I came to the condition of my master, the words stuck in my throat and I couldn’t go on. Alice reached across the table and put her hand on my arm in sympathy. I felt a surge of warmth for her. Despite our recent differences I had really missed her.

At that point Judd Brinscall interrupted. ‘Please, before Tom goes any further, I have to tell you my part in this. It won’t make for good listening – I’m truly sorry and ashamed of what I did.’

I was relieved – it saved me from having to tell everybody about his betrayal. So, with a tremor in his voice, Judd told his story, making no attempt to justify his actions, other than to explain the threats that had been made against his mother and her kin, and the possession of Cosmina Fresque’s body by the daemon. When he’d finished, he bowed his head and stared down at the table.

Nobody offered him any sympathy. I still found it impossible to forgive him. Grimalkin glared at him with death in her eyes.

But then my conscience forced me to confess my own failings. ‘I’ve nothing to be proud of, either,’ I admitted. ‘At one point I was down in the cellar, trying to find my master. Suddenly I was faced with daemons. It was dark and there were lots of them. I fled in a panic  . . .  I ran away.’

There was another silence until Alice spoke relieving the tension in the room. Her words were addressed to me. ‘What
did
you see down in that cellar the second time, Tom? What exactly did the strigoica show you?’

A lump came into my throat, and for a few seconds I was unable to speak. In my mind’s eye I saw her lifting the lid of the box to reveal the horror within.

‘They had my master’s head in a box. By means of dark magic, it still lived. She said they’d fed the rest of his body to a moroi. He talked to me and said he was in terrible pain. He begged me to release him from his torment.’

Judd lifted his head and stared at me, then stood up and gripped me by the shoulders. ‘Where were you when you saw the head?’

‘The Fresque house.’

Judd slapped his hand hard against his head three times and his eyes widened. ‘Now I see!’ he cried. ‘How many times have you been in that house, Tom?’ he demanded.

‘Four  . . .  no, five times,’ I answered.

‘And am I right in thinking that its appearance changed each time you entered?’

‘Yes – on the last occasion I was there, the door to the cellar was gone. There was just a blank wall.’

‘Listen to me, Tom. Nothing in there ever remains the same for long. Remember what I told you about the houses of strigoii and strigoica? They draw power from a grimoire to maintain their illusions. I don’t want to raise your hopes too much  . . .  but you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?’