The Spook's Nightmare (11 page)

I’d expected to be held in a chamber similar to the one in the Tynwald witch tower, along with the other prisoners, including Adriana, but we went straight past a row of narrow cells: I heard no sounds or movement
so it was impossible to tell if any were occupied. One of the yeomen unlocked the door of the one at the end and, after cutting the ropes that bound my hands, thrust me inside. Once the metal door clanged shut, I was plunged into complete darkness.

I waited for the footsteps to die away and then reached into my pocket for my tinderbox and candle stub. I always carry them with me because spook’s business often means working after dark or in underground chambers. I also checked on the blood jar, relieved to find that it was still safe. But poor Alice – she was beyond its protection. I could hardly bear to think about the risk she faced from the Fiend.

I was surprised that I hadn’t been searched and still had my silver chain – not that it would be any use against the buggane in its spirit form as it came to draw the life from my body.

I managed to light the candle, but the underground cell proved even worse than I’d expected. Not even straw to lie on. There was an oddity too: three of the walls were made of damp stone but the fourth was just
earth – hard-packed sub-soil. My hands began to tremble, making the candle flame flicker – because low down, in the centre of that earthen wall, was the dark entrance to a tunnel.

Was it one of the buggane’s tunnels? I bent low and peered in. The rear part was still in partial shadow, but it seemed to come to a dead end no more than fifteen feet inside. Had someone tried to dig an escape tunnel and been discovered? If so, why hadn’t the guards filled it in again?

I had another way out of the cell; one other item in my pocket that might prove useful – my special key. It had been crafted by the Spook’s brother, Andrew, and could open most locks. Not that I’d be in a rush to use it. I could probably get out of the cell easily enough, but then there was both an inner and an outer portcullis controlling access to the keep. The mechanisms to raise them would be guarded, so escape from the keep seemed out of the question.

Of course, there were other cells nearby, and one of them might hold Adriana. If they caught the Spook,
they might bring him here too – but I’d probably hear them in the passageway outside, so it was best to bide my time. Several of us working together would have a better chance of getting out.

I waited for long time but heard nothing. Surely, if they’d caught the Spook, he’d have been brought here by now? Perhaps he’d managed to escape? Eventually I blew out the candle to save it for future use, then curled myself up into a ball on the earth floor and tried to sleep. It was cold and damp, and soon I began to shiver. I was aching all over and covered in bruises from the beating I’d suffered. There was no Alice here to offer relief from pain with her herbs – only time would heal me.

Several times I dozed off, only to wake up with a jerk. But the final time I awoke, it was for reasons other than cold and discomfort.

I could hear the patter of earth falling onto the floor. Someone or something was emerging from the tunnel …

I
opened my tinderbox, and despite the trembling of my hands managed to light the candle stub. I stared at the earthen wall in horror. A hairy head, arms and upper torso were visible at the entrance of the tunnel and the creature was looking directly towards me. It was huge.

My worst fears were realized: it was the buggane, once again in the shape of the Cruncher. The daemon was squat and bulky, with virtually no neck, its front limbs ending in broad claws clearly shaped for burrowing. Its massive body was covered in long black hair which shone in the candlelight as if slick with oil. At close quarters, the most striking thing
about it was its face. It had the large, close-set staring eyes of a cruel predator, but when its gaze turned towards the candle, the lids narrowed into a squint. In this form the buggane had created and now inhabited a labyrinth of dark tunnels. I wondered if the light bothered it?

The creature had a slimy wet quivering snout, from which drops of moisture fell and splattered on the floor; it suddenly growled low in its throat and opened its mouth to reveal teeth that looked capable of biting off an arm, a leg or even a head. It had a double row of teeth: those at the front were sharp and triangular like the teeth of a wood-saw; those to the rear were broad, like human ones, but far larger – molars shaped for grinding and chewing. No wonder they called it the Cruncher.

But why was it visiting me like this? Wasn’t it supposed to approach in its spirit form and whisper as it drew out my life essence? I slipped my left hand into my pocket and readied my silver chain. I wondered if the chain would hold it – and, if so, for how long?
My staff had been taken by my captors. I had nothing with me that could kill it.

The buggane pulled itself into the cell and moved towards me on all fours, panting like a dog. It was maybe twice the size of a fully grown man. How had it fitted into the tunnel? I saw now that its fur was shining with beads of water. Luckily it didn’t come too close but I could still smell its foul breath, making me retch. As I struggled to hold down the contents of my stomach, it began to circle me slowly, still on all fours, and as it did so, the panting gave way to a deliberate sniffing. Was it about to attack? I wondered. If so, what was it waiting for? Or was it like a witch, short-sniffing, trying to find things out about me?

I turned slowly on my knees so that I was always facing towards it as it circled menacingly. The candle was dancing in my trembling hand, and at one point, unintentionally, I jerked the flame towards the creature. It seemed to flinch, its eyes narrowing again – or had I just imagined it?

Most denizens of the dark both feared and avoided
daylight but were not usually troubled by the light of a fire or a candle. In its present form the buggane was certainly bothered by the candlelight. But how would it cope with fire? Would a torch be a real threat to it? I tried moving the candle towards its face. It retreated and gave a threatening growl, so low that it seemed to come from deep within its belly. Next it showed me its sharp teeth and I immediately moved the candle back again.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you!’ warned a deep voice from the tunnel entrance. ‘One bite and he’d have your arm off. Or maybe your head – that would make a good mouthful.’

It was the abhuman, Horn: he was staring at me and shaking his head.

I turned my gaze back to the buggane. Having completed a full circle, it was surely planning to attack now. I waited tensely, mouth dry with fear, left hand still gripping my silver chain. But to my surprise the creature crawled back towards the wall of earth. It halted beside Horn, who began to pat its forehead,
then whispered something into its ear before moving aside. The daemon squeezed its bulk into the tunnel. For a while I could hear it scuffling and grunting as it made its way along. Then the sounds faded away altogether.

Horn was still gazing at me. ‘He wants you, boy. Knows what you are – a seventh son of a seventh son. Likes the smell of your blood and would love to eat your flesh and crunch your bones. I’ve rarely seen him so eager!’

Then he turned and followed the buggane into the tunnel. I waited until the noise of his departure faded away into absolute silence. Only then did I rise to my feet and approach the tunnel entrance. I held up my candle and peered inside. It still seemed to come to a dead end. So where had the buggane and Horn gone? Had the creature filled the tunnel in behind them? It didn’t seem possible – I was facing what looked like solid earth.

I was nervous but curious. I listened. There wasn’t the faintest sound. Was it waiting for me in the darkness ness somewhere ahead? Common sense told me that if
it had wanted to harm me, it could easily have done so in the cell. So, holding the candle in my right hand, I scrambled into the tunnel and began to crawl forward. As soon as I reached what, from the cell, had appeared to be a dead end, I saw that the tunnel angled off at ninety degrees to my left. It ran parallel to the other cells: that was what the earthen wall was for – so that the buggane could reach its victims in its physical form. No doubt each cell had a short tunnel connecting it to this one.

So was it a means of escape? Not for most people. They’d be terrified after such a visitation and wouldn’t dream of venturing inside. But could it be for me? I was a spook’s apprentice and had been in some scary situations before. My instinct as a trainee spook was to follow the tunnel. It was part of the job. Then I remembered my master’s warning about the labyrinth created by the buggane amongst the roots of trees. They moved and shifted and sometimes collapsed without warning. That thought filled me with panic. What if this tunnel collapsed now? And what if I got lost in the labyrinth or
suddenly came face to face with the buggane or Horn?

No, I wasn’t ready to take such a risk yet. So I slowly backed my way out and was soon sitting on the floor of the cell again.

I blew out my candle and tried to sleep once more. This time it was more difficult. I was finally dropping off when I heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. Had they captured the Spook? But then a key turned in my lock, and two burly yeomen carrying torches came into my cell.

‘On your feet, boy!’ one of them commanded. ‘We’re taking you to the long room.’

The other walked over to the tunnel entrance. ‘Well, what have we here?’ he remarked, looking at the scattering of soil on the cell floor. ‘Looks like you’ve had a hungry visitor! Likes to take a good look at each victim first, but he’ll be back tomorrow night to start the real business, you can be sure of that!’

They marched me back along the passage with the cells to our right. Again, no sounds came from them. Were they empty? I wondered what had happened to
Adriana. Where was she being kept? Had the buggane already begun the process of devouring her? I shuddered at the thought. The poor girl didn’t deserve that. Nobody should have to suffer such a fate. But then, instead of heading for the steps, we turned left, then left again into a much wider, stone-flagged passageway, lit by torches set in wall brackets. It seemed to me that we were still south of the moat and within the buggane’s domain.

I could hear dogs barking in the distance, the sounds increasing in volume as we approached a door at the end of the passageway, and then I was pushed into a large oblong chamber. There were dozens of torches on the walls, and I could clearly see what was going on there. About two dozen men sat on bales of straw near the right-hand wall; perhaps another five or six armed yeomen stood nearby. In the doorway stood their commander, Stanton, scowling at me, a bandage wrapped round his head – clear sign of the damage Alice’s rock had done to him. At the far end, against an earthen wall, stood a large, ornately carved wooden
chair, and seated on it was the gaunt figure of Lord Barrule, the shaman, who was presiding over events. Behind him, to his left, was the entrance to a dark tunnel, similar in size to the one in my cell.

Large steel cages lined the left-hand wall – I counted fourteen. Inside each but the last was a dog. There were a variety of breeds but all were big and fierce. My eyes swept down the line. I knew what I would see but it was still a shock when I saw Claw, Blood and Bone there. I felt sick to my stomach.

In the middle of the room was a large empty space, where the floor was covered in sawdust that was dotted with patches of fresh blood. They were clearly staging dog-fights there. I saw money changing hands – men gambling on the outcome of each fight.

Lord Barrule got to his feet and raised his hands high. As he did so, the tumult of barking ceased and, but for a faint whimper here and there, all the dogs fell silent.

As I watched, horrified, two of the cages were opened and the dogs dragged into the centre of the
chamber by their leather collars; they were forced to face each other, their noses almost touching. Although powerful, big dogs, they appeared cowed and terrified. Their handlers left them there and retreated back towards the doorway where we were standing. The shaman suddenly brought his hands down and clapped loudly three times. On the third clap, the dogs were instantly transformed from timidity to aggression and leaped forward savagely.

The fight was fast and furious: they tore at each other with their teeth, the first blood being drawn in just seconds. It was cruel and horrible and I couldn’t bear to look, so I cast my eyes down to the ground. Unfortunately my ears were still open to what was happening. Eventually one of the dogs let out a shrill cry and then fell silent. There was a burst of applause, a few cheers and the odd curse of disappointment from the losers. When I looked up, the winning dog was being led back to its cage; the losing animal was lying on its side with its throat torn out, fresh blood soaking into the sawdust.

* * *

I was forced to witness another three contests, each time terrified that one of Bill Arkwright’s dogs would be dragged out to fight. And what if they made two of them fight each other? I’d no doubt that the shaman had the power to make them kill their own kin.