Then I saw, just below the brass plate, a thin golden ring resting on the wood. It looked like a wedding ring. It must have been Amelia’s.
I heard two sounds behind me: the clink of metal upon metal, then the door of the stove being opened. I spun around to see the stove door open and a poker being thrust into the burning coals. As I watched, it began to move. That was the noise I’d heard from below. The crunching, stirring sound of the fire being poked!
Afraid, I turned to leave the room immediately and ran down the stairs. What kind of ghost was this? Boggarts could manipulate matter, throwing rocks and boulders, breaking dishes and throwing pans about a kitchen. But not ghosts. Certainly not ghosts. Their power was usually confined to scaring people, very rarely driving the weak-minded to the edge of insanity. Ghosts didn’t usually have the power to do you much physical harm. Sometimes they tugged at your hair; strangler ghosts put their hands about your throat and squeezed. But this was a spirit beyond anything I’d been taught about or encountered. It had lifted the heavy metal poker from the coal scuttle, opened the door of the stove, and started to poke the fire.
That was all bad enough, but there was worse to come. At the foot of the stairs, waiting in the hall, Arkwright stood clutching another half-empty bottle of wine, his face like thunder.
“I’ve been listening here for a few moments and couldn’t believe I was hearing right. Haven’t just been in your own room, have you, Master Ward? You’ve been meddling. Been pushing your nose in where it doesn’t belong!”
“I heard a noise upstairs,” I said, halting on the bottom step. He was blocking my way.
“There are lots of noises upstairs, and as you well know, they’re caused by the unquiet dead. By my family. And that’s my business,” he said, his voice now dangerously quiet, “and nothing to do with you at all. Wait here!”
Still carrying the bottle, he pushed past me roughly and ran up the stairs two at a time. I heard him walk along the landing on the first floor and go into three of the rooms. Then he went up the next flight of stairs, and I heard a bellow of rage. I’d forgotten to lock the door behind me. I knew he’d be furious that I’d gone into his private room. He wouldn’t want me to see the coffins. . . .
Arkwright came bounding down the stairs and ran right at me. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me with the bottle, but he used his right hand to clout me across my left ear. Trying to dodge the blow, I overbalanced, lost my footing, and crashed onto the hall floor. I looked up, my head ringing, gasping for breath. I felt stunned and nauseous: The fall had driven all the breath from my body. Arkwright lifted his boot and I thought he was going to kick me, but instead he crouched close to my head, his furious eyes glaring into mine.
“Well,” he said, his sour breath right in my face. “Let that be a lesson to you. I’m off again with the dogs to check the marsh. In the meantime get on with your studies. If this ever happens again, you won’t know what’s hit you!”
After he’d gone I paced backward and forward across the kitchen floor, seething with anger and hurt. No apprentice should have to endure what I’d suffered.
It didn’t take me long to decide what to do. My stay with Arkwright was over. I would head back to Chipenden. No doubt the Spook would be far from pleased to see me returning so early. I’d just have to hope that he would believe everything that had happened to me and take my side.
Without further thought I picked up my bag and staff, crossed the front room to the porch door, and stepped out into the garden. I hesitated. What if the dogs were close and caught my scent?
I listened carefully but all I could hear was the whine of the wind across the marsh grass. Moments later, I was wading across the salt moat, glad to see the back of Arkwright and that dank old mill. Soon I’d be back with Alice and the Spook.
CHAPTER X
The Spook’s Letter
WHEN I reached the towpath, I followed the canal south. At first I walked quickly, thinking that Arkwright might try to follow me, try to drag me back to the mill. But after a while my alarm subsided. He would be glad to be rid of me. No doubt that was what he’d been trying to do all along: drive me away.
I walked for an hour or so, still seething inside, but eventually both my anger and my headache faded. The sun was dropping toward the horizon but the air was crisp and sharp, the sky clear, and there wasn’t even the slightest sign of mist. My heart began to soar. Soon I’d see Alice; I’d be back training with the Spook. All this would seem like a bad dream.
I needed somewhere to sleep for the night; it looked like there’d be a frost before morning. On the road the Spook and I usually spent the night in a barn or cowshed, but there were lots of bridges over the canal between here and Caster, and I resolved to wrap myself in my cloak and settle down under the next one I came to.
By the time a bridge came in sight the light was fading fast. But a low growl to my right brought me to a sudden halt. Under the hawthorn hedge that bordered the towpath crouched a large black dog. One glance told me that it was one of Arkwright’s: the ferocious bitch he called Claw. Had he sent her to hunt me down? What should I do? Retreat? Or try to get past her and continue on my way?
I took a careful step forward. She remained still but was watching me intently. One more step brought me level with her and resulted in another warning growl. Watching her carefully over my right shoulder, I took another step, then another. Moments later I was striding away, but I heard her bound out onto the towpath and begin to pad along behind me. I remembered what Arkwright had said. “Don’t turn your back on her; she’s dangerous.”
And now Claw was walking behind me! I glanced back and saw that she was keeping her distance. Why was she following me? I decided that I wouldn’t sleep under this bridge. I’d keep walking until I reached the next one. By then the dog might have got fed up and gone home. As I reached the arch, to my dismay another wolfhound emerged and moved toward me with a low, threatening growl. It was Tooth.
Now I was scared. One big dog was in front of me, the other behind. Slowly and very deliberately, I placed my bag on the ground and readied my staff. Any sudden move and they might attack. I didn’t think I could deal with both. But what choice did I have? I pressed the recess in my staff and there was a click as the blade emerged.
It was then that someone spoke from the darkness under the arch of the bridge: “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Master Ward! They’d rip your throat out before you could move!”
Arkwright stepped out to confront me. Even in the poor light I could see the sneer on his face.
“Heading back to Chipenden, are you, boy? You’ve barely lasted three days! That’s the fastest any lad has run away. I thought you’d more guts than that. You’re certainly not the apprentice Mr. Gregory made you out to be. . . .”
I didn’t speak because anything I said was likely to provoke him to anger. I’d probably get another battering; he might even set the dogs on me. So I just pushed the blade shut and waited to see what he would do. Did he intend to drag me back to the mill?
He whistled, and both dogs took up position at his heel. Shaking his head, he walked toward me, then thrust his hand inside his cloak and pulled out an envelope.
“This letter’s from your master to me,” he said. “Read it and make up your mind. You can either go back to Chipenden or continue your training here.”
That said, he handed me the letter and set off north along the towpath. I watched until both he and the dogs were out of sight. Then I took the letter from the envelope. It was the Spook’s writing all right. It was difficult to read because by now the light was dim. Even so, I read it twice.
To Bill Arkwright
I ask you to train my apprentice, Tom Ward, beginning as soon as you possibly can. The need is urgent. As you will know from my previous letter, the Fiend has been released into the world, and the danger from the dark has increased for us all. But although I have mostly kept it from him, my fear is that soon, once again, the Fiend will att
empt to destroy the boy.
I must be blunt. After the harsh way you treated my previous apprentice, I’d thought never to entrust another lad to your care. But it must be done. The threat to Tom Ward grows daily. Even if the Fiend does not come against him directly, I fear that he will send some other denizen of the dark. Either way, the boy must be toughened up and taught the hunting and combat skills he urgently needs. If the lad survives, I believe he will prove to be a powerful weapon against the dark, perhaps the most potent born into our world for many decades.
So, in the hope that I’m not making a big mistake, I reluctantly place him in your hands for a period of six months. Do what must be done. And as for you, Bill Arkwright, I offer you the same counsel as I did when you were my apprentice. To fight the dark is your duty. But is that fight worth it if, as a consequence, your own soul withers and dies? You have much to teach the boy. Teach him well as I taught you. But my hope is that, in teaching, you may also be taught. Set aside the bottle once and for all. Put your bitterness behind you and become the man you are meant to be.
John Gregory
I thrust the letter back into the envelope and pushed it into my breeches pocket. That done, I went into the darkness under the bridge and, wrapping myself in my cloak, lay on the cold, hard ground. It was a long time before I fell asleep. I’d a lot to think about.
The Spook had tried to keep his fears from me—but not very successfully. He really did think that the Fiend would come back to destroy me. That’s why he’d been mollycoddling me. He’d sent me to Arkwright to be trained and toughened up. But did that mean I had to be battered black and blue by a drunkard? The Spook seemed to have had reservations. Arkwright treated another of the Spook’s apprentices badly. Yet, despite that, he’d still sent me to this cruel new master. That meant he thought it was important. It was then that I remembered something Alice had once said to me after we’d confronted Mother Malkin and I’d stopped her burning the witch.
“Get harder or you won’t survive! Just doing what Old Gregory says won’t be enough. You’ll die like the others!”
Many of my master’s apprentices had been killed while learning their trade. It was a dangerous job, all right, especially now that the Devil had entered our world. But did getting harder mean that I had to be cruel like Arkwright? Let my own soul wither and die?
The arguments went round and round in my head for a long time, but at last I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and despite the cold slept soundly until the first gray light of dawn. It was another misty morning, but now my mind was clear and sharp. On waking I found that I’d arrived at a decision. I would go back to Arkwright and continue my training.
Firstly, I trusted my master. Despite his reluctance he thought going to Arkwright was the right thing to do. Secondly, my own instincts agreed. I sensed something important here. If I went back to Chipenden, I would miss the training that was supposed to take place here. And if I missed it, I would be the poorer for it. Still, it would be hard, and I certainly didn’t relish the thought of spending six months with Arkwright.
When I got back to the mill, the front door was unlocked and I could smell cooking even before I reached the kitchen. Arkwright was frying eggs and bacon on the top of the blazing stove.
“Hungry, Master Ward?” he asked without bothering to turn around.
“Yes, I’m starving!” I replied.
“No doubt you’re cold and damp, too. But that’s what you get spending a night under a dark, dank canal bridge when you could’ve been sleeping in relative warmth. But we’ll speak no more about it. You’re back and that’s what counts.”
Five minutes later we were sitting at the table, tucking in to what proved to be an excellent breakfast. Arkwright seemed a lot more talkative than the day before.
“You sleep deeply,” he said. “Too deeply. And that worries me. . . .”
I stared at him in puzzlement. What did he mean?
“Last night I sent the bitch back to guard you. Just in case anything came out of the water. You’ve read your master’s letter. The Fiend might send something after you at any moment, so I couldn’t take any chances. When I returned, just before dawn, you were still in a very deep sleep. You didn’t even know I was there. That’s just not good enough, Master Ward. Even asleep you must be alert to danger. We need to do something about that.”
As soon as we’d finished breakfast, Arkwright stood up. “As for your curiosity, it’s what killed the cat. So to save you from pushing your nose in again where it doesn’t belong, I’m going to show you what’s what and explain the situation in this house. After that, I never want you to mention it again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing, too.
“Right, Master Ward, then follow me. . . .”
Arkwright led the way directly up to the room with the double bed—the one saturated with water. “There are two ghosts that haunt this mill,” he said sadly. “The spirits of my own dad and mam. Abe and Amelia. Most nights they sleep together in this bed. She died in the water. That’s why it’s so wet.
“You see, they were a loving couple and now, even in death, they refuse to be separated. Dad was repairing the roof when he had a terrible accident. He fell to his death. My mam was so distraught at losing him that she killed herself. She just couldn’t live without him so she threw herself under the waterwheel. It was a painful, horrific death. The wheel dragged her under and broke every bone in her body. Because she took her own life, she can’t cross to the other side, and my poor dad stays with her. She’s strong despite her suffering. Stronger than any ghost I’ve encountered. She keeps the blaze going, trying to warm her cold, wet bones. But she feels better when I’m close by. They both do.”
I opened my mouth to speak but no words came. It was a terrible tale. Was this why Arkwright was so hard and cruel?
“Right, Master Ward, there’s more to see. Follow me. . . .”
“I’ve seen enough, thanks,” I told him. “I’m really sorry about your mam and dad. You’re right, it’s none of my business—”
“We’ve started so we’ll go on to the end. You’re going to see it all!”
He led the way up the next flight of stairs and into his private room. There were only embers in the bottom of the stove but the air was warm. The poker and tongs were in the coal scuttle. We passed by the three chairs and went directly to the two coffins in the corner.
“My parents are both bound to their bones,” he told me, “so they’re not able to move much beyond the confines of the mill. I dug ’em up and brought ’em here where they’d be more comfortable. Better than haunting that windswept graveyard on the edge of the marsh. They don’t mean anyone any harm. Sometimes the three of us sit in here together and talk. That’s when they’re happiest. . . .”
“Can’t anything be done?” I asked.
Arkwright turned on me, his face livid with anger. “Don’t you think I haven’t tried? That’s why I became a spook in the first place! I thought my training would give me the knowledge to set them free. But it all came to nothing. Mr. Gregory came here eventually to see if he could help. He did his best but it was useless. So now you know, don’t you?”
I nodded and lowered my eyes, unable to meet his gaze.
“Look,” he said, his voice much softer, “I’m struggling against a private demon of my own—the Demon Drink, to give it its full title. It makes me harder and crueler than I would be otherwise, but at the moment I just can’t manage without it. It takes away the pain—allows me to forget what I’ve lost. No doubt I’ve let things go a bit, but I still have a lot to teach you, Master Ward. You’ve read that letter: It’s my duty to toughen you up and ready you for the increasing threat from the Fiend. And there’s evidence here that the dark is rising faster than ever before. Ever since I heard you were coming, my task has grown harder. I’ve never seen so much water-witch activity. It may well be directed at you. So you’ve got to be ready. Do I make myself clear???
?
I nodded again.
“We’ve got off to a bad start. I’ve trained three apprentices for Mr. Gregory but not one of them had the barefaced cheek to come up here. Now you know the situation, I expect you to stay out of this room. Have I got your word on that, Master Ward?”
“Yes, of course. I’m really sorry,” I told him.
“Good. Well, that’s sorted out, then. So now we can start again. For the rest of the day it’ll be lessons indoors to make up for the waste of yesterday afternoon. But tomorrow we’ll be spending time on practical work again.”
Arkwright must have seen the look of dismay on my face. I certainly didn’t relish fighting with staffs again. He shook his head and almost smiled. “Don’t worry, Master Ward. We’ll give your bruises a few days to fade before we fight again.”
The following week was hard, but thankfully we didn’t fight again, and my bruises did slowly begin to fade.
A lot of the time was spent working with the dogs. Being close to them made me nervous, but they were well-trained and obedient so I felt safe enough while Arkwright was there. There were boggy woodlands to the east and we practiced using the dogs to flush out witches. The scariest part was when I had to play the part of the witch by hiding in the undergrowth. Arkwright called it “Hunt the Apprentice!” The dogs would circle round behind and drive me straight toward the place where he waited with his barbed staff. It reminded me of rounding up sheep. When it was finally my turn to hunt him, I started to enjoy it.
Less enjoyable were the swimming lessons. Before I went into the water again I was made to practice the strokes by balancing facedown across a chair with my arms and legs sticking out on either side. Arkwright taught me to breathe in while pulling my arms wide and back with my hands cupped in a scooping motion. Then I would breathe out, thrusting my arms forward, while simultaneously giving the strongest frog kick I could manage. I soon became proficient, but it was a lot harder to do the same thing in the canal.