A New Darkness (12 page)

“It’s good to see you too, Ellie. This is Jenny,” I said, by way of introduction. “She’s my first apprentice.”

I saw Ellie’s eyes widen in surprise at that, but she smiled warmly and gave Jenny a hug too.

Little Mary came running up to me. “Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!” she cried. “Have you come to kill another bog?”

“Not this time, Mary,” I laughed. By a “bog,” the child meant a boggart. On my last visit, she had been very interested in the local boggart I’d dealt with; it had been a dangerous stone-chucker.

“Come in and see the baby,” Ellie said, beckoning us inside. So we went into the farmhouse kitchen and then up the stairs.

“This is Matthew,” Ellie said, lifting the baby out of its bed. “It’s made Jack so happy to have a son.”

I knew that my brother would love both his children equally, but for a farmer it was something special to have a son who could help with the tough physical work, which only became harder as you grew older. The first son inherited the farm, too. The others were found trades. My dad would have found it difficult to find someone to take on his seventh son, but Mam had intervened. It had been her idea all along for me to become a spook’s apprentice.

“Would you like to hold him, Tom?” Ellie could see the reluctance on my face; she shook her head and sighed. “He won’t break, Tom. Babies aren’t that delicate!”

She was right. I was nervous about holding babies because they were so small and their heads were floppy. Of course, little Matthew was a few months old now, so he was much stronger than Mary had been when I first saw her—she’d been only six days old. So I held the child for a few moments, and Matthew stared up at me with his wide-open blue eyes and made little gurgling sounds.

“Could
I
hold him, please?” Jenny asked.

“Of course you can, love.” Ellie took the baby from me and handed him over.

“Where’s Jack?” I asked.

“It’s Friday morning. He’s gone to the market at Topley with James,” she replied.

Of course. Friday was market day. I’d been away from the farm for so long that I’d forgotten its routines. The Friday visit to the local market, straight after morning milking, had been part of my life. Still, they’d be back before noon, and I was looking forward to seeing them.

We gathered around the big wooden table for the midday meal. Jack was at its head, Ellie on his left. Mary was seated on a high stool next to her mother. I was opposite Jenny, while James, my brawny blacksmith brother, sat at the foot of the table, head down, tucking into a massive plate of hotpot.

“What puzzles me,” said Jack, resting his knife and fork on his plate to give Jenny a stare from beneath his bushy eyebrows, “is why a young girl like you would want to do such a dangerous and terrifying job. Wouldn’t it be better to find a kind man and raise a family together?”

“Oh, Jack!” cried Ellie. “Leave Jenny alone! A woman can do most jobs that a man does. She’s even better at certain tasks! What you’ve got to remember is that Tom’s job often involves helping people and making it possible for them to live their lives without fear—something to which a woman’s well suited.”

“
I
want to be a spook!” Mary cried out. “Want to talk to a bog!”

We all laughed, and I smiled at Ellie. More than once my job had brought danger into their lives. It had scared Ellie, and I knew that she preferred it if I wasn’t around the farm after dark. But it was nice to hear her talk about my job like that. It made me feel that she appreciated what I did.

“Why don’t we let the girl speak for herself?” Jack wiped up the last of his gravy with a big slice of bread.

“A woman has to make her way in the world as well as a man. There aren’t that many jobs she can do to keep the wolf from the door,” Jenny said, meeting Jack’s eyes. “Like Tom, I have special abilities that make me fit for this line of work. Of course, one day I would like to have children, but having a family doesn’t stop you from working. Your mother was a healer and a midwife, perhaps the best in the County. She raised seven sons and yet found time for other work. I hope to do something similar.”

Once again, I was stunned by all that Jenny knew. She must have asked around to find out about Mam. Or maybe Mam had visited her village . . . she’d been well known and respected throughout the County.

The table became quiet at that. What Jenny had said was quite true, but it made us think of Mam and her absence from the family table. She was sorely missed.

“Is this just a family visit, Tom?” James said, breaking the silence. “Or have you got spook’s business in the area?”

“No, things are fairly quiet at the moment. I was just passing nearby and took the opportunity to visit you, that’s all. But have you heard about any problems around here? Has anyone gone missing . . . ?” I didn’t want to alarm my family, but I was worried that other Kobalos mages might be loose in the County; I had to ask.

“There’s been nothing untoward in these parts,” Jack said, frowning at me. I knew he would probably be annoyed at me saying that in front of Ellie. He didn’t want her scared.

“Nobody’s said anything to me,” James agreed. “They travel to my forge from miles around and always give me the latest gossip while I work. The thing that seems to be bothering everybody is nothing to do with the dark. It’s the weather. We’ve never known it so cold at this time of year, especially at night. It looks like winter’s on its way early, and my fear is that it’ll be a bad one. But of course that’s just Mother Nature—it doesn’t concern you in your line of work.”

I smiled at James and nodded, but his words filled me with foreboding. Until now I hadn’t given much thought to the unseasonably cold weather, but I suddenly remembered that the Kobalos came from a land of ice and snow far to the north. They thrived in cold conditions. Their god, Talkus, had been born and would now be growing in power, strengthening their mages. Could their magic even be changing the climate? I wondered.

We set off back to Chipenden in the afternoon. Ellie said good-bye to us at the gate.

“Lovely to see you again, Tom—and wonderful to meet you, Jenny!” she exclaimed. “I wish you all the best in your new job. Taking you on as his apprentice is one of the wisest decisions Tom’s ever made!”

Jenny grinned so widely I thought that her face was going to split in half.

With that, I headed off up the hill again. Jenny followed at my heels, carrying my bag.

On the way home, I thought through all I would now need to do. I must begin Jenny’s training in earnest. I needed to supply her with a temporary staff and a notebook. She could have my old spook’s bag—I had started using John Gregory’s, as it had a certain sentimental value and, being of good-quality leather, had many years of use left in it. She would also need a cloak; I would order one for her from the village tailor.

I realized that with Jenny to do some of the chores, such as collecting groceries, I was likely to have more free time. Perhaps I should write something to add to the library—a book that would advance our knowledge; part of my legacy to future spooks. . . .

It was something to think about.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Jenny Calder

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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14

Mother and Daughter

W
HAT
I have dreamed of for more than a year has finally happened.

At last I am a spook’s apprentice!

My master has given me a notebook, in which I write up the theory that he teaches me, and also the practical work that we do in dealing with the dark.

But he has also given me another little book, in which to tell the story of my development during my training and the dangers we encounter. He did the same while being trained by John Gregory. So much is lost from our memories as the years pass, and he says that it helps to record such events and review them later. We learn from the past, and so avoid repeating our mistakes.

So here is my first account. It will tell the story of how I came to become involved in what Tom Ward calls “spook’s business.”

I chose my future job after the day that changed my life forever—the day I met my true mother.

I’ll never forget that afternoon. I was hurrying away from the market with my groceries when an old woman approached me. She wore a shawl over her head even though the day was sunny and warm, and walked with slow, shuffling steps.

“Good day to you, daughter,” she wheezed, looking up into my eyes. “Would you be willing to listen to me for a while?”

I smiled at her, wondering how best to get away without offending her. I was in a rush to get back and make the evening meal. I’d stayed at the market too long, and my father got very angry when his tea was late. Although it was more than a year since he’d last taken his belt to me, I was still scared of him. The previous week he’d trembled with rage when I simply dropped a spoon, clenching his fists so that the veins on his arms bulged in purple knots.

“You’re not too old to feel my belt, girl!” he’d roared.

I had decided that if he hit me again, I’d leave home. But to think it was easier than to do it. Where could I run to? I’d no relatives to offer me shelter. How could I pay my own way in the world?

“I’m afraid I have to get home,” I said to the woman apologetically. “Perhaps we could talk next market day?”

“I may not be here next market day, daughter,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I think it best that we speak now. This may be our only chance.”

It was then that our eyes met for the first time and I noted with a shock that her eyes were like mine—the left one blue; the right one brown. I wondered if people sometimes stared at her as they did me and made cruel remarks or whispered behind their hands. Most folk didn’t like it if you were a little different.

The woman’s face was lined and yellow, and suddenly I saw that she was not old at all. She was just very ill.

“Shall we go and sit over there in the shade?” She pointed to a bench against the church wall in the shade of an old elm tree.

Despite my fear of the consequences of getting home late, I nodded and followed her. There was something strange and compelling about this woman, I thought. I just knew that it was the right thing to do.

We sat together on the bench and turned to face each other. Our eyes locked again, and I shivered. Suddenly, in the shade of the tree, I felt cold.

“Twice I have named you ‘daughter,’” said the woman. “It was not merely a manner of address that might be used in friendliness from an older woman to a younger one. You are indeed my daughter. I am truly your mother. You are the flesh of my flesh. My blood runs through your arteries and veins.”

I stared at her and saw the truth in her eyes, and anger flared within me. “
You
are my mother!” I hissed. “
You
are the mother who abandoned me, who left a defenseless baby exposed to the elements!”

The woman nodded, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. “I had no choice, child. Your father was dead, and I already had six daughters whom I could barely feed. I knew of the couple who adopted you. They wanted another child, so I placed you where they would find you. I knew they would put a roof over your head and fill your belly. I loved you, child. I loved you with all my heart, and it tore me apart to leave you like that. But it had to be done, for all our sakes.”

I could understand why she’d done it, but it still hurt. Of course, she couldn’t have known that the man she chose to be my foster father would turn out to be violent.

She buried her face in her hands; her whole body was trembling with emotion.

There were tears running down my own cheeks now. “So why seek me out now? Why now, after all these years?”

“Because I am dying, child.” She looked straight at me again. “Something is eating me from within. It is a disease that twists my stomach and withers my skin. Within weeks I will be dead. So now, while I can still walk, I have come to tell you what you are.”

“What do you mean?” I cried, frightened by her words. Was she really my mother, or some madwoman?

“The blood of the Samhadre runs through the veins of our family. In most it is weak or nonexistent, but in a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter it first flares up around the time of her thirteenth birthday. I am such a daughter—and so, my daughter, are you. Your foster mother named you Jennifer, but that is not the name I gave you, which you must not reveal to anyone.”

“Who are the Samhadre, and what name did you give me?” I demanded. I’d never heard of such a people.

“They are the Old Ones, daughter—those beings who walked the earth while humans were no better than dumb animals who sat in their own excrement. The Old Ones were powerful, wise, swift, and compassionate, but deadly. You will inherit some small part of what they were. Soon gifts will come to you. I want you to prepare your mind to receive them. Nobody told me what to expect; I thought I was going mad. I want you to accept that the gifts are real. That is the first step that will enable you to survive.”