Toddy shook his head. “Wouldn’t like it much. Witches scare me.”
“Just old wives’ tales. There are no witches. Come on, Toddy, tell me! When have you seen a witch?”
“Had an old witch in our village once,” Toddy replied. “She’d a black cat and used to mutter under her breath. She had a wart on her chin, too!”
“The cat or the witch?” mocked the sergeant.
“The witch.”
“A witch with a wart on her chin! Well, doesn’t that just have us all shaking in our boots, lads,” brayed the sergeant sarcastically. “We need to get you apprenticed to a spook and then, when you’ve finished your training, you’ll be able to go back and deal with her!”
“No,” said Toddy. “Wouldn’t be able to do that. She’s dead already. They tied her hands to her feet and threw her in the pond to see if she’d float.”
The men roared with laughter but I couldn’t see what was funny. She’d clearly been what the Spook called “falsely accused”—a poor old woman who didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Those who sank were presumed innocent but often died of shock or pneumonia if they hadn’t already drowned.
“Well, Toddy? Did she float?” the sergeant demanded.
“She did, but facedown in the water. They fished her out to burn her but she was already dead. So they burned her cat instead.”
There was another burst of cruel laughter even louder than the first, but the conversation soon became desultory before ceasing altogether. I think I must have dozed off because I suddenly became aware that it had grown extremely cold. Only an hour previously, a chill damp autumn wind had been gusting through the trees, bending the saplings and causing older branches to creak and groan; now everything was perfectly still and the ground was coated with hoar frost that sparkled in the moonlight.
The fire had died right down until there were just a few glowing embers. There was plenty of wood lying in a heap at the side, but despite the bitterly cold air, nobody had made a move to fuel the fire. All five soldiers were simply staring at the cooling embers as if in a trance.
Suddenly I sensed something approaching the clearing. The soldiers did, too. They came to their feet as one and peered out into the darkness. A shadowy figure emerged from among the trees, moving toward us so silently that it appeared to be floating rather than walking. As it drew nearer, I felt fear rising in my throat like bile and stood up nervously.
My body was already cold, but there’s more than one kind of cold. I’m the seventh son of a seventh son and I can sometimes see, hear, or sense things that ordinary people can’t. I see ghosts and ghasts, hear the dead talk, feel a special kind of cold when something from the dark approaches. I had that feeling now, stronger than I’d ever felt it before, and I was scared. So scared that I began to tremble from head to foot. Could it be the Fiend, come for me at last?
There was something about the head of the approaching figure that disturbed me deeply. There was no wind yet its hair seemed to be moving, writhing in an impossible way. Could this be the Fiend approaching now?
The figure moved closer; suddenly it entered the clearing so that moonlight fell on it properly for the first time. . . .
But it wasn’t the Fiend. I was looking at a powerful malevolent witch. Her eyes were like fiery coals and her face was contorted with hatred and malice. Yet it was her head that terrified me most of all. Instead of hair she had a nest of black snakes that writhed and coiled, forked tongues flickering, fangs ready to inject their venom.
Suddenly there was a moan of animal terror from my right. It was the sergeant. For all his brave words, his face was now deformed by fear, his eyes bulging in his head, mouth open as if to scream. But instead he gave another moan, deep from within his belly, and set off into the trees, heading north at full pelt. His men followed, with Toddy bringing up the rear, and I could hear them in the distance, their frantic footsteps receding until they’d faded away altogether.
In the silence I was left alone to face the witch. I had no salt, no iron, no staff, and my hands were still bound behind my back, but I took a deep breath and tried to control my fear. That was the first step when dealing with the dark.
But I needn’t have worried. Suddenly the witch smiled and her eyes ceased to glow. The coldness within me ebbed. The snakes stopped writhing and became a head of black hair. The contortions of the face relaxed into the features of an exceptionally pretty girl and I looked down at the pointy shoes that I knew so well. It was Alice, and she was smiling at me.
I didn’t return her smile. All I could do was stare at her, horrified.
“Cheer up, Tom,” Alice said. “Scared ’em so much they ain’t going to follow us. You’re safe enough now. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”
“What have you done, Alice?” I said, shaking my head. “I sensed evil. You looked like a malevolent witch. You must have used dark magic to do that!”
“Ain’t done nothing wrong, Tom,” she said, reaching out to untie me. “The others were scared and it spread to you, that’s all. Just a trick of the light really . . .”
Appalled, I pulled away from her. “Moonlight shows the truth of things, you know that, Alice. It’s one of the things you told me when we first met. So is that what I’ve just seen? What you really are? Have I seen the truth?”
“No, Tom. Don’t be silly. It’s just me, Alice. We’re friends, ain’t we? Don’t you know me better than that? Saved your life more than once. Saved you from the dark, I have. Ain’t fair, you accusing me like that. Not when I’ve just rescued you again. Where would you be now without me? I’ll tell you: on your way to war. You might never have come back.”
“If the Spook had seen that . . .” I shook my head. It would have been the end of Alice for sure. The end of her time living with us. My master might even have put her in a pit for the rest of her days. After all, that’s what he did with witches who used dark magic.
“Come on, Tom. Let’s be away from here and back to Chipenden. The cold’s starting to get into my bones.”
With those words, she cut my bonds and we headed straight back toward the Spook’s house. I carried the sack with what was left of the provisions and we walked in silence. I still wasn’t happy at what I’d seen.
The next morning, as we tucked into our breakfast, I was still worrying about what Alice had done.
The Spook’s pet boggart made our meals; it was mostly invisible but occasionally took the form of a ginger cat. This morning it had cooked my favorites—bacon and eggs—but this breakfast was probably one of the worst it had ever put on the table. The bacon was burned to a crisp and the eggs were swimming in grease. Sometimes the boggart cooked badly when something had upset it. It seemed to know things without being told. I wondered if it was concerned about the same thing I was: Alice.
“Last night when you walked into the clearing, you scared me, Alice. Scared me badly. I thought I was facing a malevolent witch — one of a type I’d never met before. That’s exactly what you looked like. You had a head of snakes rather than hair and your face was twisted with hatred.”
“Stop nagging me, Tom. It ain’t fair. Just let me eat my breakfast in peace!”
“Nagging? You need nagging! What did you do? Come on, tell me!”
“Nothing. I did nothing! Leave me alone. Please, Tom. It hurts me when you go on at me like that.”
“It hurts me to be lied to, Alice. You did something and I want to know exactly what.” I paused, blazing with anger, and the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “If you don’t tell me the truth, Alice—then I’ll never trust you again!”
“All right, I’ll tell you the truth,” Alice cried, tears glistening in her eyes. “What else could I do, Tom? Where would you be now if I hadn’t come along and got you away? Ain’t my fault that I scared you. Aimed at them, it was, not you.”
“What did you use, Alice? Was it dark magic? Something Bony Lizzie taught you?”
“Nothing special. Similar to glam
our, that’s all. It’s called dread. Terrifies people, it does, and makes ’em run away in fear for their lives. Most witches know how to do it. It worked, Tom. What could be wrong with that? You’re free and nobody got hurt, did they?”
Glamour was something a witch used to make herself appear younger and more beautiful than she really was, creating an aura that enabled her to bind a man to her will. It was dark magic and had been used by the witch Wurmalde when she’d tried to unite the Pendle clans in the summer. She was dead now, but dead too were men who’d been in thrall to the power of glamour and had only realized too late the threat she represented. If dread were another version of that same dark magic, it worried me that Alice had used such power. It worried me deeply.
“If the Spook knew, he’d send you away, Alice,” I warned her. “He’d never understand. For him nothing ever justifies using the power of the dark.”
“Then don’t tell him, Tom. You don’t want me to be sent away, do you?”
“Of course not. But I don’t like lying either.”
“Then just say that I caused a distraction. That you got away in the confusion. Not far from the truth, is it?”
I nodded but I was still far from happy.
The Spook returned that evening, and despite feeling guilty at withholding the truth, I repeated what Alice had said.
“Just made a lot of noise from a safe distance,” Alice added. “They chased me but I soon lost ’em in the dark.”
“Didn’t they leave somebody guarding the lad?” my master asked.
“Tied Tom’s arms and legs so he couldn’t run away. I circled back and cut him free.”
“And where did they go afterward?” he asked, scratching at his beard worriedly. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
“They talked about going north,” I told him. “They seemed fed up with press-gang work and wanted to desert.”
The Spook sighed. “That could well be true, lad. But we can’t afford to take a chance on those men coming looking for you again. Why did you go down into the village alone in the first place? Haven’t you the sense you were born with?”
My face flushed with anger. “I was sick of being mollycoddled. I can look after myself!”
“Can you now? Didn’t put up much of a fight against those soldiers, did you?” my master retorted scathingly. “No, I think it’s time I packed you off to work with Bill Arkwright for six months or so. Besides, my old bones ache too much now to give you the combat training you need. Harsh though he is, Bill’s licked more than one of my apprentices into shape. And that’s exactly what you need! And just in case that press-gang come back looking for you, you’re better off away.”
“But they wouldn’t be able to get past the boggart, would they?” I protested.
In addition to kitchen duties, the boggart kept the gardens safe from the dark and any sort of intruder.
“Yes, but you’re not always going to be protected here, are you, lad?” the Spook said firmly. “No, it’s best if we get you away.”
I groaned inside but said nothing. My master had been muttering for weeks about seconding me to Arkwright, the spook who worked the part of the County north of Caster. It was something my master usually arranged for his apprentices. He believed that a concentrated period of training with another spook was beneficial—that it was good to get different insights into our trade. The danger from the press-gang had simply hastened his decision.
Within the hour he had written the letter while Alice sulked by the fire. She didn’t want us to be separated, but there was nothing either of us could do about it.
What was worse, my master sent Alice to post the letter rather than me. I began to wonder if I’d be better off up north after all. At least Bill Arkwright might trust me to do something by myself.
CHAPTER III
A Late Reply
FOR almost two weeks we’d waited for the reply from Arkwright. Recently, to my annoyance, in addition to collecting the provisions, Alice had been sent down to the village every evening to see if a reply had arrived while I’d had to stay in the house. But now a letter from Arkwright was finally here.
When Alice entered the kitchen, the Spook was warming his hands at the fire. As she handed him the envelope, he glanced at the words scrawled on it. To Mr. Gregory of Chipenden.
“I’d know that handwriting anywhere. About time, too!” my master commented, annoyance strong in his voice. “Well, girl, thanks for that. Now run along!”
With a downward turn of her mouth, Alice obeyed. She knew she’d find out what Arkwright had written soon enough.
The Spook opened the letter and began to read while I waited impatiently.
When he’d finished, he handed it to me with a weary sigh. “You might as well look, too, lad. It concerns you. . . .”
I began to read, my heart slowly sinking into my boots as I did so.
Dear Mr. Gregory,
My health has been poor of late and my duties heavy. But although it’s not a good time for me to be burdened by an apprentice, I cannot refuse your request, for you were always a good master to me and gave me a sound training that has served me well.
At ten o’clock on the morning of the eighteenth day of October, bring the boy to the first bridge over the canal north of Caster. I will be waiting there.
Your obedient servant,
Bill Arkwright
“You don’t need to read between the lines to tell that he’s none too keen to take me on,” I commented.
The Spook nodded. “Aye, that’s plain enough. But Arkwright always was a bit down in the mouth and overly concerned with the state of his health. Things probably won’t be half as bad as he makes out. He was something of a plodder, mind, but he did complete his time, and that’s more than can be said for most of the lads it’s been my misfortune to train!”
That was true enough. I was the Spook’s thirtieth apprentice. Many apprentices had failed to complete their training; some had fled in fear, while others had died. Arkwright had survived and had plied our trade successfully for many years. So, despite his seeming reluctance, he probably had a lot to teach me.
“Mind you, he’s come on a lot since he’s been working by himself. Ever heard of the Coniston Ripper, lad?”
Rippers were a dangerous type of boggart. The Spook’s last apprentice, Billy Bradley, had been killed by a ripper: It had bitten off some of his fingers and he’d died of shock and loss of blood.
“There’s an entry in the Bestiary in your library about it,” I told him.
“So there is, lad. Well, it killed over thirty people. Arkwright was the one who dealt with it. Ask him about it when you get the chance. No doubt he’s proud of what he did, and so he should be. Don’t let on what you know—let him tell you the story himself. Should help to get your working relationship off to a good start! Anyway,” the Spook said, shaking his head, “that letter’s barely arrived in time. It’s best if we get to bed early tonight and set off soon after dawn.”
My master was right: The meeting with Arkwright was scheduled for the day after tomorrow and it was about a day’s journey to Caster over the fells. But I wasn’t feeling too happy at having to set off so suddenly. He must have noticed my glum face because he said, “Cheer up, lad, Arkwright’s not that bad. . . .”
And then his expression changed as he suddenly understood what I was feeling. “Now I see what’s the matter. It’s the girl, isn’t it?”
I nodded. There would be no place for Alice at Arkwright’s house, so we’d be parted for about six months. Despite all the mollycoddling I’d suffered recently, I was going to miss her. Miss her badly.
“Couldn’t Alice just travel with us to the bridge?” I asked.
I expected the Spook to refuse. After all, despite the fact that Alice had saved our lives on more than one occasion, she was still half Deane and half Malkin and came from witch-clan stock. My master didn’t fully trust her and rarely involved her in our business. He still believed that one day she mi
ght fall under the influence of the dark. I was glad he didn’t know how convincingly she’d appeared as a malevolent witch the other day.
But to my astonishment, he nodded his agreement. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Off you go and tell her now.”
Fearing that he might change his mind, I left the kitchen immediately and went to look for Alice. I expected to find her in the next room, copying one of the books from the Spook’s library. But she wasn’t there. To my surprise, she was outside sitting on the back step, staring out at the garden with a gloomy expression on her face.
“It’s chilly out here, Alice,” I said, smiling down at her. “Why don’t you come back inside? I’ve got something to tell you. . . .”
“Ain’t good news, is it? Arkwright’s agreed to take you, hasn’t he?” she asked.
I nodded. We’d both been hoping that Arkwright’s delayed reply meant he would refuse the Spook’s request. “We’re setting off early tomorrow,” I told her, “but the good news is that you’re coming with us to see me off at Caster—”
“To me that’s a lot of bad news with hardly a pinch of good. Don’t know what Old Gregory’s fretting about. That press-gang ain’t coming back, are they?”
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But he wants to get me off to Caster at some point and now seems as good a time as any. I can hardly refuse. . . .”
Although I hadn’t mentioned it to Alice, I also reckoned that one reason the Spook was sending me to Arkwright’s was to get me away from her for a while. Once or twice recently I’d noticed him watching when we were laughing or talking together, and he kept warning me about getting too close to her.
“Suppose not,” Alice said sadly. “But you will write to me, Tom, won’t you? Write every week. That way it’ll make time pass more quickly. Won’t be much fun for me alone in the house with Old Gregory, will it?”