The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (3 page)

Under my gown, in the scabbard crafted for me by Grimalkin, I was carrying the Destiny Blade, a weapon given to me by one of Ireland’s greatest heroes, Cuchulain. The witch assassin had trained me in its use and it would prove a valuable additional weapon.

We crossed the river Ribble with hours to spare and, heading north, kept to the west of that huge, ominous hill, feeling the chill of its brooding presence. Pendle was a place that was particularly conducive to the use of dark magic. This was why so many witches lived here.

However, we were on the safer side of Pendle; the villages of the three main witch clans lay to the southeast, beyond the hill. We knew that the clans were divided amongst themselves; there were those who supported the Fiend and those who opposed him. The situation was complicated but one thing was certain – a spook’s apprentice would not be welcome anywhere in the district.

We skirted Downham, then rounded the northern edge of the hill, before heading south once more. Now, with every stride, we were moving closer to danger, so we settled down in a small copse to wait for nightfall.

Alice turned to face me, her face pale in the gloom. ‘I’ve more to tell you, Tom,’ she said. ‘I think this is as good a time as any.’

‘You’re being very mysterious. Is it something bad?’ I asked her.

‘The first part ain’t – though the second might upset you, so I’ll start with the easy bit. When your mam hobbled the Fiend, she used two sacred objects. One of ’em is in the trunk in Malkin Tower. The other could be anywhere, so we need to track it down.’

‘So we have one – that’s a start. What is it?’

‘Grimalkin doesn’t know. Slake wouldn’t let her see it.’

‘Why not? Why should the lamia decide that? She’s the guardian of the trunk, not the owner.’

‘It wasn’t Slake’s idea – it was your mam’s. She said nobody but you could know what it was or see it.’

‘This was in Mam’s writings that Slake found in the trunk?’

‘No, Tom,’ Alice said, shaking her head sadly. ‘Your mam appeared to Slake and told her that directly.’

I looked at Alice in astonishment. Since Mam died I’d had contact with her once, on the ship on the way home from Greece – but I hadn’t seen her; it had just been a feeling of warmth. At the time, I’d been certain that she’d come to say goodbye to her son. But as time had passed I’d become less and less sure that it had really happened. Now it seemed more like dreaming than waking. But could she really have been talking to Slake?

‘Why would she tell Slake that? Why not tell me directly? I need to know – I’m her son!’ Suddenly I felt angry. I tried to suppress the feeling but I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. I missed Mam terribly. Why hadn’t she contacted
me
?

‘I knew you’d be upset, Tom, but please try not to let it bother you. It might be easier for her to talk to Slake. After all, they are
both
lamias. There’s something else I should tell you. Grimalkin said the lamia sisters talked about her as if she were still alive. And they worship her. They call her
Zenobia
.’

I took a deep breath to calm myself. It made sense. Mam had been the very first lamia, a powerful and evil servant of the dark. But she had changed: after marrying Dad she’d finally turned her back on her former life and become an enemy of the Fiend.

‘Perhaps she’ll talk to me when I get to the tower?’ I suggested.

‘Ain’t good to build up your hopes too much, Tom. But yes, she might. Now, there’s something else I’d like to ask. It’s important to me, but if you say no I’ll understand.’

‘If it’s important to you, Alice, I won’t say no. You should know me better than that.’

‘It’s just that, on our way to the tower, we’ll be passing by Witch Dell. Grimalkin said that part of it was burned by the Fiend’s supporters as they pursued her, but that Agnes Sowerbutts might have survived. She was my friend as well as my aunt, Tom. She helped me a lot. If she’s still in there, I’d like to talk to her one last time.’

‘I thought it was best to stay away from dead witches: the longer they stay in the dell, the more they change, forgetting their past life, their family and friends.’

‘That’s mostly true, Tom – their personalities change for the worse, which means that living and dead witches don’t mingle much. But Agnes ain’t been dead for long and I feel sure she’ll still remember me.’

‘If she did survive, how will you find her? We can’t just wander through the dell with all those dead witches around. Some are really strong and dangerous.’

‘Grimalkin told me that there’s probably only one strong one around at the moment. But there’s a call I sometimes used to contact Agnes. She taught it to me herself. It’s the cry of the corpsefowl. That’ll bring her out.’

The sun went down and the copse grew darker. It was a clear moonless night – the moon wouldn’t rise for several hours – but the sky was sprinkled with stars. Keeping to the shelter of hedgerows, we began a meandering journey south towards the tower, finally skirting the eastern edge of Witch Dell. We could see the devastation caused by the fire – a wide swath of burned trees cut it in half. It must have destroyed a lot of dead witches, many of them with allegiance to the Fiend. I realized that his supporters would do anything to retrieve his head.

We stopped about fifty yards from the dell’s southern tip. There were signs of the terrible battle between Grimalkin and her witch opponents. She was formidable, but I wondered at the size of the forces that were hunting her down – and about Alice’s part in all this.

Alice cupped her hands around her mouth and sent an eerie call out into the darkness. The corpsefowl – or nightjar – flies by night, and the cry sent shivers down my spine. The powerful water witch, Morwena, had used a corpsefowl as her familiar, and I had some scary memories of being hunted by her. I remembered the time she had surged up out of the marsh,
hooked
me with a talon and tried to drag me down to drain my blood.

I couldn’t tell the difference between Alice’s cry and the real thing, but she told me she modulated it slightly so that Agnes would know it was her and not just a bird.

Every five minutes, Alice repeated that cry. Each time, that eldritch call, echoing amongst the trees of the dell, made me shudder. Each time it went out into the darkness, my heart beat harder: the bad memories came flooding back. Claw had bitten off the witch’s finger and saved me. Otherwise I’d have been dragged down into the marsh, my blood drained before I’d even had time to drown. I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and tried to stay calm, slowing my breathing as my master had taught me.

Alice was about to give up when, after the eighth attempt, I suddenly felt cold. It was the warning that something from the dark was approaching. Everything became unnaturally still and silent. Then there was a rustle of grass, followed by low squelching noises. Something was approaching across the soggy ground. Soon I could hear snuffling and grunting.

Within moments, we spotted a dead witch crawling towards us. It could have been any dead witch out hunting for blood, thinking we were likely prey, so I tightened my grip on my staff.

Alice quickly sniffed twice, checking for danger. ‘It’s Agnes,’ she whispered.

I could hear the witch sniffing the ground, finding her way towards us. Then I saw her: she was a sorry creature indeed,
and
the sight brought a lump to my throat. She had always been such a clean, houseproud woman; now she wore a tatty dress that was caked in dirt and her hair was greasy and wriggling with maggots. She smelled very strongly of leaf mould. I needn’t have been concerned that she might have forgotten us: as soon as she came close she began to sob, the tears running down her cheeks to drip onto the grass. Then she sat up and put her head in her hands.

‘Sorry to be so maudlin, Alice,’ she cried, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I thought it was bad when my husband died – I missed him terribly for many a long year – but this is far worse. I just can’t get used to being like this. I wish the fire had taken me. I can never go back to my cottage and live my old comfortable life. I’ll never be happy again. If only I’d been a strong dead witch. At least then I’d have been able to travel by night and hunt far from this miserable dell. But I’m not strong enough to catch anything big. Beetles, voles and mice are the best I can hope for!’

Alice didn’t speak for quite a while. I couldn’t think of anything to say, either. What comfort could I give to poor Agnes? No wonder most living witches kept away from their dead relatives. It was painful to see someone you liked in such a terrible state. There was nothing to be said that would make her feel better.

‘Listen, Tom, I’d like to have a few words alone with Agnes. Is that all right?’ Alice asked me eventually.

‘Of course it is,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I’ll wait over there.’

I walked well out of earshot to allow Alice a bit of privacy
with
her aunt. In truth I was more than happy to get away. Being close to Agnes made me feel sad and uneasy.

After about five minutes Alice came towards me, her eyes glittering in the starlight. ‘What if Agnes was a really strong witch, Tom  . . .  Just think what that would mean. Not only would she have a much better existence, which she deserves, she’d be a really useful ally.’

‘What are you saying, Alice?’ I asked nervously, knowing she wasn’t much given to idle speculation.

‘Suppose I make her strong  . . . ?’

‘Using dark magic?’

‘Yes. I can do it  . . . Whether I
should
is another matter. What do you think?’

‘I THOUGHT THAT
all
the magic drained out of a dead witch, leaving only a need for blood? So how can your magic help?’ I asked Alice.

‘It’s true that a dead witch no longer has her own magic in her bones. But I can use mine and just make her stronger for a while,’ she replied. ‘Her new strength will lessen with time, but her existence in the dell could be better for years to come. By the time she weakens, her mind will have started to disintegrate anyway, so she will no longer pine for her old life. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.’

‘But what about her victims? What about those she’ll kill
because
she needs their blood? At least she’s feeding on insects and small animals now – not people!’

‘She’ll only take the blood of the Fiend’s servants – there are plenty to keep her satisfied for a long time! And each one she kills will lessen the danger to us and make it more likely that we’ll succeed in destroying him for all time.’

‘Can you be sure she’ll limit herself to them?’

‘I know Agnes. She’ll keep any promise she makes – I’ll get that commitment before I do anything.’

‘But what about you, Alice? What about
you
?’ I protested, raising my voice a little. ‘Each time you use your magical power it brings you closer to the dark.’

My argument was exactly the one my master would have used. I was Alice’s friend and was worried about her, but it had to be said.

‘I use it so we can survive, so that we can win. I saved you from the witch, Scarab, and the goat mages back in Ireland, didn’t I? I used it to stop the witches getting away with the Fiend’s head; and I gave Grimalkin some of my power so she could kill our enemies. If I hadn’t done so, she would be dead, I’d be dead and the Fiend’s head would have been reunited with his body. It had to be done, Tom. I did what was necessary. This could be just as important.’

‘Just as important? Are you sure you’re not helping Agnes because you feel sorry for her?’

‘And what if it
was
only because of that?’ Alice retorted angrily, her eyes glittering. ‘Why shouldn’t I help my friends just as I helped you, Tom? But I promise you it’s more than that,
much
more. Something’s going to happen, I feel sure of it. I can sense something moving towards us from the future – something dark and terrible. Agnes might be able to help. We’ll need a strong Agnes just to survive. Trust me, Tom, it’s for the best!’

I fell silent, filled with a terrible unease. Alice was using dark magic more freely than ever. She’d given Grimalkin power, and now she wanted to make a dead witch stronger. Where would it end? I knew that whatever I said, she’d go ahead and do it anyway. Our relationship was changing for the worse. She no longer valued my advice.

We glared at each other, but after a few seconds Alice spun on her heel and went back to Agnes. She crouched down, placed her left hand on the head of the dead witch and spoke to her softly. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Agnes’s reply was clear as a bell. She spoke just three words: ‘Yes, I promise.’