'Claw!' I shouted as I jumped down onto the sands. As the dog panted at my side, I felt more and more relieved with every step. We were safe from the witch for now. I knew Morwena wouldn't be able to tolerate the salt deposited on the sands by the tide. Bare webbed feet couldn't walk on that. But how long could we stay out here? She'd be watching and waiting for when we tried to leave the sands again. And what would I do when the tide came in?
Even if I could manage to evade her and get off the sands, I knew Morwena would follow me all the way back to the mill. I was exhausted already but I knew a witch as strong as Morwena would never tire. Following the edge of the bay, with her behind me and possibly other witches lying in wait somewhere along the route, would surely be a mistake.
If only the sand guide were here to guide me across. But he was nowhere to be seen. The sea looked a long way out but I had no way of judging if it was safe to cross now. Arkwright had told me how dangerous the incoming tides were. Travellers drowned; coaches, passengers and horses were swept away, never to be seen again.
If it hadn't been for Claw I'd have dithered there for hours, but she suddenly darted away from me towards the sea, then turned and barked. I stared at her stupidly; she ran back to my side and then away in the same direction, as if she wanted me to follow. Still I hesitated, but the third time she came back she seized hold of my breeches and tugged violently, almost pulling me over. Then she growled and raced away again.
This time I followed her. It made sense, I told myself. She must have made this crossing many times with her master and she knew the way. I should trust her instincts and follow her. Perhaps if he'd set off recently she'd take me to where the sand guide was waiting.
I walked fast, heading south-east. The sky was brightening rapidly. If I could cross the sands and reach the mill safely, the salt moat would keep Morwena and her allies out. Not only that, she'd have to go the long way round to reach Arkwright's mill, which would take her a day at least. By then, with any luck, the Spook and Alice would have arrived. My master would know how best to defeat her.
When Claw and I reached the river Kent's channel, it was starting to rain and a thick mist was descending. There seemed plenty of water down there in the gully but it was impossible to tell how deep it was without testing it with my staff. Claw seemed to know what she was doing, however, and headed north, parallel with the bank. We followed the channel until it curved, at which point Claw barked, plunged down the slope and swam straight across. It was only about fifteen or sixteen paces to the other side. Holding my bag high, I tested the water with my staff before taking each careful stride. It was cold but the deepest part only came up to my thighs and I was soon across.
Feeling more confident now, I began to jog behind Claw. The wind was getting up and the rain was starting to drive harder from my left. The sea was somewhere to my right. I could hear waves crashing in the distance but the visibility was worsening by the minute and I couldn't see more than a few dozen yards ahead.
I walked on, but as the sea fog grew thicker, I began to feel more and more isolated. How many miles was it to the second river channel? I consoled myself with the thought that, once across, it wasn't more than half an hour or so to Hest Bank and safety. We walked and walked and I began to lose all track of time. The wind had been coming from my left but now it seemed to have changed direction, driving rain hard into my back. Or had we changed direction? I couldn't tell. Wherever I looked, all I could see was a wall of grey mist, but I felt sure the sound of the waves was getting louder. What if we were heading out to sea?
Were we lost? I'd been afraid of the witch, but in my desperation to escape, had I put too much faith in Claw? Even if she could guide us to the far shore, why had I believed that she could possibly know about the tides? It seemed to me that the tide had already turned, but by now it was too late to retrace my steps. The sea would be sweeping in fast down both channels to cut me off – the water would be too deep for me to wade across and the current would surely carry me away.
As I began to lose all hope, I looked down at the sand at my feet and saw something that restored my confidence in Claw. There were tracks there: horses' hooves and two parallel lines recently made by the wheels of a coach. I hadn't seen the coach set off but we seemed to have caught up with it. We were following the sand guide! Claw was leading me in the right direction after all.
But when we reached the next channel, I despaired again. The water in the channel looked deep and the current was strong, water surging from right to left. The tide was coming in fast now.
Again Claw followed the bank for some way, this time to the right, which worried me because I knew that was probably taking us nearer to the sea. Soon she plunged into the water and swam across. I clambered down the bank as before and waded in. There was less distance to cover this time – maybe only ten paces – but three steps in and the water was up to my waist. Two more and it was almost up to my chest, the fierce current starting to pull me over. I struggled on, my feet sinking into the soft sand at the bottom of the channel as I tried to keep my bag clear of the water.
Just when the water reached my neck and I thought I would be swept away, I found higher ground. A few more strides brought me out of the water and I clambered up the bank to safety. But my ordeal wasn't over yet. The tide was now racing in over the flat sands. The mist had lifted and I could see the shore but it still seemed a long way off. The first incoming wave swept over my boots; the second well over my ankles. Soon Claw was swimming and the water was almost up to my waist again. If I had to swim, I would lose my staff and my bag, which contained my silver chain.
I urged myself on as fast as I could and finally, miraculously, I reached the edge of the bay and collapsed onto the bank above, struggling for breath, my limbs trembling with exhaustion and fear.
I heard Claw give a warning growl and I looked up to see a man with a staff standing over me. For a second I thought it was a spook but then realized it was Sam Jennings, the sand guide.
'You're a fool, boy!' he growled. 'What possessed you to cross so late and without a guide? I brought a coach over well before first light. One of the horses went lame and we barely made it in time ourselves.'
'I'm sorry!' I said, stumbling to my feet. 'But I was being chased. I had no choice.'
'Sorry? Don't waste your time apologizing to me. Think of your family who'd be left behind to grieve – your poor mother who'd have lost a son. Who was chasing you?'
I didn't reply. I'd said enough already.
He looked me up and down, glancing warily at my bag and staff. 'Even if it were the Devil himself at your heels, you did a reckless thing, boy. Bill told me himself that he'd warned you about the dangers here. He's crossed the sands with me more times than I can remember. Why didn't you listen?'
I said nothing.
'Anyway, let's hope you've learned your lesson,' he continued. 'Look, my cottage isn't too far yonder. Come and dry yourself off. No doubt my wife could find you some hot food to warm your bones.'
'Thanks for the offer,' I said, 'but I've got to get back to the mill.'
'Off you go then, boy. But think on. Remember what I've told you. Too many have drowned out on those sands. Don't you be another!'
I set off, shivering in my cold, wet clothes. At least I was a day ahead of the witch, and with any luck Alice and the Spook would join me soon. I hadn't told the guide that Arkwright was dead because it involved too much spooks' business. It seemed to me Arkwright would be missed. For all his faults he'd done a good job protecting those in the north of the County, and people knew and respected him almost as part of the community.
I'd just had a dangerous encounter with the sea but the wetlands of the northern County weren't finished with me yet. In an attempt to save time, rather than heading directly for the canal and following it down towards the mill, I tried a more direct approach from the north. I skirted the Little Mere, heading for the path where I'd first faced Morwena. I thought I was well clear of the bog
but I was wrong. One moment I was squelching along quite happily, the next my right boot began to sink into the soft ground.
The more I struggled, the worse it got, and the soft mud quickly climbed halfway to my knee. I started to panic but then took a deep breath to calm myself. My other foot hadn't sunk in very far and must be on firmer ground. So, taking my weight on my staff, very slowly I managed to drag my right leg clear. The boot freed itself with loud sucking sound and I almost overbalanced.
After that I was much more careful about where I put my feet. It had made me realize just how dangerous the marsh could be. At last I reached the path and pressed on more swiftly towards the mill.
CHAPTER 18
Two messages
It was only as I approached it that I remembered the press gang and how one of them had threatened to kill us. Arkwright had laughed it off at the time but I wasn't as confident.
It would be easy enough to find out where a spook lived. What if they'd already discovered the location of the mill? They could be waiting in ambush, either in the garden or within the building.
But after cautiously crossing the moat and thoroughly checking the mill inside, including the room with the coffins, I realized my fears were groundless. No pressgangers and no witches. Then, despite my weariness, I carried the five barrels of salt out into the garden and tipped them into the moat, making sure that most went into the section open to the marsh. I needed to maintain the strength of the solution to keep out Morwena. Claw followed me while I did so, but then barked twice, circled me three times and bounded away into the distance – no doubt she was off hunting rabbits.
I was worried about the water pits under the mill too. There was the skelt and the witch to consider. Did they need more salt to keep them docile? If I put too much in, I might kill them, so I decided to take a chance and leave them be for now.
Back in the kitchen, I built up the fire in the stove and dried my wet clothes; then I allowed myself a well-deserved sleep before cooking a hot meal. That done, I decided to go upstairs to the attic room and search Arkwright's library for the book about Morwena. I hadn't read it all and I needed to find out everything I could about her. It might make the difference between death and survival. I was nervous of ghosts strong enough to move objects but it was still daylight and, after all, they were Arkwright's mam and dad, sad and trapped rather than malevolent.
The coffins stood side by side and the three armchairs were drawn up to the stove. I glanced at the cold ashes in the grate and shivered at the damp chill in the air, shaking my head sadly. The two ghosts would no longer have the companionship of their son.
I turned my attention to Arkwright's books. His library was just a fraction of the size of the Spook's at Chipenden but that was only to be expected. My master had not only lived longer, giving him more time to acquire and write books; he had also inherited them from the generations of spooks who'd lived there before him.
Arkwright's shelves held many titles of local interest, such as: The Flora and Fauna of the North County, The Art of Basket Weaving and Lakeland Paths and Byways. Then there were his notebooks, dating from the time of his apprenticeship almost to the present. These were bound in leather and would no doubt give a detailed account of the knowledge and skills Arkwright had acquired while following our trade. There was also a Bestiary, less than a quarter the size of Mr Gregory's but probably just as interesting. And beside it was the book about Morwena.
I decided to take it downstairs and read it by the warmth of the stove. I'd taken just one step towards the door when I felt a sudden icy chill; a warning that the unquiet dead were approaching.
A luminous cylindrical shape began to form between me and the doorway. I was surprised. Most ghosts didn't appear during daylight hours. Was it the mother, father or even the ghost of Arkwright himself? Lingering spirits were usually bound to their bones or the scene of their death, but very occasionally a ghost was forced to wander. I just hoped it wasn't Arkwright. Some spirits are possessive after death and particularly resent intruders into their homes. They still want to live there. Some aren't even fully aware that they're dead. I couldn't help thinking that he'd be angry to find me inside his room, reading one of his books. For an intrusion such as this, I'd suffered cuts and bruises. What now?
But it wasn't Arkwright. A woman's voice called out to me. It was the ghost of Amelia, his mother.
'My son, my William, still lives. Help him, please, before it's too late.'
'I'm sorry, Mrs Arkwright. Really sorry. I wish I could help but I can't. You must believe me, your son really is dead,' I said, trying to keep my voice as kind and calm as possible, just as the Spook advised when facing the unquiet dead.
'No! That isn't true. Listen to me! He's shackled within the bowels of the earth, still waiting to die.'
'How can you know that,' I asked her gently, 'when you're a spirit bound to this place.'
She began to weep softly and the light faded. But, just when I thought she'd gone completely, it flared to a new brilliance and she cried out in a loud, tremulous voice:
'I heard it in the howl of a dying dog; I read it in the whispers of the marsh reeds; I smelled it in the water dripping from the broken wheel. They spoke to me and now I speak to you. Save him before it is too late. Only you can do it. Only you can face the power of the Fiend!'
And then, in an instant, the column of light shifted into the image of a woman. She was wearing a blue summer dress and carrying a basket full of spring flowers. She smiled at me and the scent of those flowers suddenly filled the bedroom. It was a warm smile but her eyes glistened with tears.
Suddenly she was gone. I shivered and made my way back to the kitchen, thinking over what had been said. Could the ghost of Arkwright's mother be right? Was he still alive? It seemed unlikely. The trail of blood had led right to the edge of the lake and he'd lost his staff and boot. The witches must have dragged him into the water. Surely they'd have taken their chance to slay him there and then? After all, he'd been their enemy for long enough and killed many of their kind.
As for that poor ghost, she was probably just confused. That happens sometimes with spirits that are bound to the earth. Their reason flees. Memories fray and become tattered and torn.
With trepidation, I thought about what lay ahead. I didn't expect Morwena and the other witches to arrive for a while yet. When they came, the moat would hopefully keep them at bay – but for how long? With luck, Alice and the Spook would arrive before then. Together, we could finish Morwena off for ever. I certainly didn't feel capable of it alone. Then we could return to Chipenden and leave this terrible place of streams, lakes and bogs behind. I hoped that the Spook wouldn't be too angry with Alice for using the mirror. Surely he had to see that it was justified?
I'd just picked up the book and started to read when I heard the sound of a distant bell. I listened carefully: after a few moments the sound was repeated. When it rang for the fifth and final time, I knew that it was Mr Gilbert down by the canal with a delivery.
He must have often rung the bell when Arkwright was away on business. If I just stayed in the mill, he'd probably move on down the canal, thinking to call next time he passed. But Mr Gilbert wouldn't yet know that Arkwright was dead, and as he'd seemed genuinely fond of the man, I felt it was my duty to go and break the bad news to him. After all, it should be safe enough. Morwena would still be miles away and I could do with seeing a friendly face.
So, carrying just my staff, I set off for the canal. It was a bright afternoon and the sun was shining. Mr Gilbert was heading south and the barge was on the far side of the canal. It seemed very low in the water, suggesting that it was heavily laden with cargo. Someone was grooming the horses. It was a girl of about my own age, golden hair glinting in the sun – no doubt Mr Gilbert's daughter. He waved to me from the towpath and pointed towards the nearest bridge, about a hundred yards to the north. I crossed over and came back to the barge.
When I drew closer, I could see that the b
argeman was holding an envelope. He raised his eyebrows. 'What's wrong?' he demanded. 'You look down in the mouth, Tom. Bill's not giving you that bad a time, is he?'
There was no easy way to explain what had happened so I told him simply, 'I've some bad news for you. Mr Arkwright's dead. He was killed by water witches north of the bay. They may be after me now, so take care of yourself on the water. Who knows where or when they might appear?'