The Spook's Apprentice Part 8

The Spook seemed to be arguing with himself in the account. He clearly didn't like burying her alive but explained why it had to be done. He believed that it was too dangerous to kill her: once slain, she had the power to return and would be even stronger and more dangerous than before.

The point was, could she still escape? One cake and she'd been able to bend the bars. Although she wouldn't get the third, two might just be enough. At midnight she might still climb out of the pit. What could I do?

If you could bind a witch with a silver chain, then it might have been worth trying to fasten one across the top of the bent bars to stop her climbing out of her pit. The trouble was, the Spook's silver chain was in his bag, which always travelled with him.

I saw something else as I left that library. It was beside the door, so I hadn't noticed it as I came in. It was a long list of names on yellow paper, exactly thirty and all written in the Spook's own handwriting.

My own name, Thomas J. Ward, was at the very bottom, and directly above it was the name William Bradley, which had been crossed out with a horizontal line; next to it were the letters RIP.

I felt cold all over then because I knew that they meant Rest in Peace and that Billy Bradley had died.

More than two thirds of the names on the paper had been crossed off; of those, another nine were dead.

I supposed that a lot were crossed out simply because they'd failed to make the grade as apprentices, perhaps not even making it to the end of the first month. Those who had died were more worrying. I wondered what had happened to Billy Bradley and I remembered what Alice had said: * You don't want to end up like Old Gregory's last apprentice.'

How did Alice know what had happened to Billy? It was probably just that everybody in the locality knew about it, whereas I was an outsider. Or had her family had something to do with it? I hoped not, but it gave me something else to worry about.

Wasting no more time, I went down to the village. The butcher seemed to have some contact with the Spook. How else had he got the sack to put the meat into? So I decided to tell him about my suspicions and try to persuade him to search Lizzie's house for the missing child.

It was late in the afternoon when I arrived at his shop and it was closed. I knocked on the doors of five cottages before anyone came to answer. They confirmed what I already suspected: the butcher had gone off with the other men to search the fells. They wouldn't be back until noon the following day. It seemed that after searching the local fells, they were going to cross the valley to the village at the foot of the Long Ridge, where the first child had gone missing. There they'd carry out a wider search and stay overnight.

I had to face it. I was on my own.

Soon, both sad and afraid, I was climbing the lane back towards the Spook's house. I knew that if Mother Malkin got out of her grave, then the child would be dead before morning.

I knew also that I was the only one who might even try to do something about it.

Chapter Nine.

On The River Bank Back at the cottage, I went to the room where the Spook kept his walking clothes. I chose one of his old cloaks. It was too big, of course, and the hem came down almost to my ankles while the hood kept falling down over my eyes. Still, it would keep out the worst of the cold. I borrowed one of his staffs too, the one most useful to me as a walking stick: it was shorter than the others and slightly thicker at one end.

When I finally left the cottage, it was close to midnight. The sky was bright and there was a full moon just rising above the trees, but I could smell rain and the wind was freshening from the west.

I walked out into the garden and headed directly for Mother Malkin's pit. I was afraid, but someone had to do it and who else was there but me? It was all my fault anyway. If only I'd told the Spook about meeting Alice and what she'd told the lads about Lizzie being back! He could have sorted it all out then.

He wouldn't have been lured away to Pendle.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. The child on the Long Ridge might not have died. I felt guilty, so guilty, and I couldn't stand the thought that another child might die and that would be my fault too.

I pa.s.sed the second grave where the dead witch was buried head down, and moved very slowly forward on my tiptoes until I reached the pit.

A shaft of moonlight fell through the trees to light it up, so there was no doubt about what had happened.

I was too late.

The bars had been bent even further apart, almost into the shape of a circle. Even the butcher could have eased his ma.s.sive shoulders through that gap.

I peered down into the blackness of the pit but couldn't see anything. I suppose I had a forlorn hope that she might have exhausted herself bending the bars and was now too tired to climb out.

Fat chance. At that moment a cloud drifted across the moon, making things a lot darker, but I could see the bent ferns. I could see the direction she'd taken. There was enough light to follow her trail.

So I followed her into the gloom. I wasn't moving too quickly and I was being very, very cautious.

What if she was hiding and waiting for me just ahead? I also knew that she probably hadn't got very far.

For one thing, it wasn't more than five minutes or so after midnight. Whatever was in the cakes she'd eaten, I knew that dark magic would have played some part in getting her strength back. It was a magic that was supposed to be more powerful during the hours of darkness - particularly at midnight. She'd only eaten two cakes, not three, so that was in my favour, but I thought of the terrible strength needed to bend those bars.

Once out of the trees, I found it easy to follow her trail through the gra.s.s. She was heading downhill but in a direction that would take her away from Bony Lizzie's cottage. That puzzled me at first, until I remembered the river in the gully below. A malevolent witch couldn't cross running water - the Spook had taught me that - so she would have to move along its banks until it curved back upon itself, leaving her way clear.

Once in sight of the river, I paused on the hillside and searched the land below. The moon came out from behind the cloud, but at first, even with its help, I couldn't see anything much down by the river because there were trees on both banks, casting dark shadows.

And then suddenly I noticed something very strange. There was a silver trail on the near bank. It was only visible where the moon touched it, but it looked just like the glistening trail made by a snail. A few seconds later I saw a dark, shadowy thing, all hunched up, shuffling along very close to the riverbank.

I started off down the hill as quickly as I could. My intention was to cut her off before she reached the bend in the river and was able to head directly for Bony Lizzie's place. I managed that and stood there, the river on my right, facing downstream. But next came the difficult part. Now I had to face the witch.

I was trembling and shaking and so out of breath that you'd have thought I'd spent an hour or so running up and down the fells. It was a mixture of fear and nerves, and my knees felt as if they were going to give way any minute. It was only by leaning heavily on the Spook's staff that I was able to stay on my feet at all.

As rivers went it wasn't that wide, but it was deep, swollen by the spring rains to a level where it had almost burst its banks. The water was moving fast too, rushing away from me towards the darkness beneath the trees where the witch was. I looked very carefully, but it still took me quite a few moments to find her.

Mother Malkin was moving towards me. She was a shadow darker than the tree shadows, a sort of blackness that you could fall into, a darkness that would swallow you up for ever. I heard her then, even above the noise made by the fast-flowing river. It wasn't just the sound of her bare feet, which were making a sort of slithery noise as they moved towards me through the long gra.s.s at the stream's edge.

No - there were other sounds that she was making with her mouth and perhaps her nose. The same sort of noises she'd made when I'd fed her the cake. There were snortings and snufflings that once again brought into my mind the memory of our hairy pigs feeding from the swill bucket. Then a different sound, a sucking noise.

When she moved out from under the trees into the open, the moonlight fell on her and I saw her properly for the first time. Her head was bowed low, her face hidden by a tangled ma.s.s of white and grey hair, so it seemed that she was looking at her feet, which were just visible under the dark gown that came down to her ankles. She wore a black cloak too, and either it was too long for her or the years she had spent in the damp earth had made her shrink. It hung down to the ground behind her and it was this, dragging over the gra.s.s, that seemed to be making the silver trail.

Her gown was stained and torn, which wasn't really surprising, but some were fresh stains - dark, wet patches. Something was dripping onto the gra.s.s at her side and the drips were coming from what she gripped tightly in her left hand.

It was a rat. She was eating a rat. Eating it raw.

She didn't seem to have noticed me yet. She was very close now, and if nothing happened, she'd b.u.mp right into me. I coughed suddenly. It wasn't to warn her. It was a nervous cough and I hadn't meant it to happen.

She looked up at me then, lifting into the moonlight a face that was something out of a nightmare, a face that didn't belong to a living person. Oh, but she was alive all right. You could tell that by the noises she was making eating that rat.

But there was something else about her that terrified me so much that I almost fainted away on the spot. It was her eyes. They were like two hot coals burning inside their sockets, two red points of fire.

And then she spoke to me, her voice something between a whisper and a croak. It sounded like dry dead leaves rustling together in a late autumn wind.

*It's a boy,' she said. *I like boys. Come here, boy.'

I didn't move, of course. I just stood there, rooted to the spot. I felt dizzy and light-headed.

She was still moving towards me and her eyes seemed to be growing larger. Not only her eyes; her whole body seemed to be swelling up. She was expanding into a vast cloud of darkness that within moments would darken my own eyes for ever.

Without thinking, I lifted the Spook's staff. My hands and arms did it, not me.

*What's that, boy, a wand?' she croaked. Then she chuckled to herself and dropped the dead rat, lifting both her arms towards me.

It was me she wanted. She wanted my blood. In absolute terror, my body began to sway from side to side. I was like a sapling agitated by the first stirrings of a wind, the first storm wind of a dark winter that would never end.

I could have died then, on the bank of that river. There was n.o.body to help and I felt powerless to help myself.

But suddenly it happened ...

The Spook's staff wasn't a wand, but there's more than one kind of magic. My arms conjured up something special, moving faster than I could even think.

They lifted the staff and swung it hard, catching the witch a terrible blow on the side of the head.

She gave a sort of grunt and fell sideways into the river. There was a big splash and she went right under but came up very close to the bank about five or six paces downstream. At first I thought that that was the end of her, but to my horror her left arm came out of the water and grabbed a tussock of gra.s.s.

Then the other arm reached for the bank and she started to drag herself out of the water.

I knew I had to do something before it was too late. So, using all my willpower, I forced myself to take a step towards her, as she heaved more of her body up onto the bank.

When I got close enough, I did something that I can still remember vividly. I still have nightmares about it. But what choice did I have? It was her or me. Only one of us was going to survive.

I jabbed the witch with the end of the staff. I jabbed her hard and I kept on jabbing her until she finally lost her grip on the bank and was swept away into the darkness.

But it still wasn't over. What if she managed to get out of the water further downstream? She could still go to Bony Lizzie's house. I had to make sure that didn't happen. I knew it was the wrong thing to kill her and that one day she'd probably come back stronger than ever, but I didn't have a silver chain, so I couldn't bind her. It was now that mattered, not the future. No matter how hard it was, I knew I had to follow the river into the trees.

Very slowly I began to walk along the riverbank, pausing every five or six steps to listen. All I could hear was the wind sighing faintly through the branches above. It was very dark, with only the occasional thin shaft of moonlight managing to penetrate the leaf canopy, each like a long silver spear embedded in the ground.

The third time I paused, it happened. There was no warning. I didn't hear a thing. I simply felt it. A hand slithered up onto my boot, and before I could move away, it gripped my left ankle hard.

I felt the strength in that grip. It was as if my ankle was being crushed. When I looked down, all I could see was a pair of red eyes glaring up at me out of the darkness. Terrified, I jabbed down blindly towards the unseen hand that was clutching my ankle.

I was too late. My ankle was jerked violently and I fell to the ground, the impact driving all the breath from my body. What was worse, the staff went flying from my hand, leaving me defenceless.

I lay there for a moment or two, trying to catch my breath, until I felt myself being dragged towards the riverbank. When I heard the splashing, I knew what was happening. Mother Malkin was using me to drag herself out of the river. The witch's legs were thrashing about in the water and I knew that one of two things would happen: either she'd manage to get out or I'd end up in the river with her.

Desperate to escape, I rolled over to my left, twisting my ankle away. She held on, so I rolled again and came to a halt with my face pressed against the damp earth. Then I saw the staff, its thicker end lying in a shaft of moonlight. It was out of reach, about three or four paces away.

I rolled towards it. Rolled again and again, digging my fingers into the soft earth, twisting my body like a corkscrew. Mother Malkin had a tight grip on my ankle but that was all she had. The lower half of her body was still in the water, so despite her great strength she couldn't stop me rolling over and twisting her through the water after me.

At last I reached the staff and thrust it hard towards the witch. But her own hand moved into the moonlight and gripped the other end.

I thought it was over then. I thought that was the end of me, but to my surprise Mother Malkin suddenly screamed very loudly. Her whole body became rigid and her eyes rolled up in her head. Then she gave a long, deep sigh and became very still.

We both lay there on the riverbank for what seemed a long time. Only my chest was rising and falling, as I gulped in air; Mother Malkin wasn't moving at all. When, finally, she did, it wasn't to take a breath.

Very slowly, one hand let go of my ankle and the other released the staff and she slid down the bank into the river, entering the water with hardly a splash. I didn't know what had happened but she was dead - I was sure of it.

I watched her body being carried away from the bank by the current and swirled right into the middle of the river. Still lit by the moon, her head went under. She was gone. Dead and gone.

Chapter Ten.

Poor Billy I was so weak afterwards that I fell to my knees, and within moments I was sick - sicker than I'd ever been before. I kept heaving and heaving even when there was nothing but bile coming out of my mouth, heaving until my insides felt torn and twisted.

At last it ended and I managed to stand. Even then, it was a long time before my breathing slowed down and my body stopped trembling. I just wanted to go back to the Spook's house. I'd done enough for one night, surely?

But I couldn't - the child was in Lizzie's house. That was what my instincts told me. The child was the prisoner of a witch who was capable of murder. So I had no choice. There was n.o.body else but me and if I didn't help, then who would? I had to set off for Bony Lizzie's house.

There was a storm surging in from the west, a dark jagged line of cloud that was eating into the stars.

Very soon now it would begin to rain, but as I started down the hill towards the house, the moon was still out - a full moon, bigger than I ever remembered it.

It was casting my shadow before me as I went. I watched it grow, and the nearer I got to the house, the bigger it seemed to get. I had my hood up and I was carrying the Spook's staff in my left hand, so that the shadow didn't seem to belong to me any more. It moved on ahead of me until it fell upon Bony Lizzie's house.

I glanced backwards then, half expecting to see the Spook standing behind me. He wasn't there. It was just a trick of the light. So I went on until I'd pa.s.sed through the open gate into the yard.

I paused before the front door to think. What if I was too late and the child was already dead? Or what if its disappearance was nothing to do with Lizzie and I was just putting myself in danger for nothing? My mind carried on thinking, but just as it had on the riverbank, my body knew what to do.

Before I could stop it, my left hand rapped the staff hard against the wood three times.

For a few moments there was silence, followed by the sound of footsteps and a sudden crack of light under the door.

As the door swung slowly open, I took a step backwards. To my relief it was Alice. She was holding a lantern level with her head so that one half of her face was lit while the other was in darkness.

"What do you want?' she asked, her voice filled with anger.

*You know what I want,' I replied. *I've come for the child. For the child that you've stolen.'

*Don't be a fool,' she hissed. *Go away before it's too late. They've gone off to meet Mother Malkin.

They could be back any minute.'

Suddenly a child began to cry, a thin wail coming from somewhere inside the house. So I pushed past Alice and went inside.

There was just a single candle flickering in the narrow pa.s.sageway, but the rooms themselves were in darkness. The candle was unusual. I'd never seen one made of black wax before, but I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up anyway and let my ears guide me to the right room.

I eased open the door. The room was empty of furniture and the child was lying on the floor on a heap of straw and rags.

*What's your name?' I asked, trying my best to smile. I leaned my staff against the wall and moved closer.