The Spook’s Revenge: Book 13 (Spooks) (30 page)

‘I’m going to put it under the coffin,’ I said. ‘You won’t take it back, and this way there is less chance that anyone else will be able to get their hands on it.’

‘But what if you change your mind? You would have to disturb his grave to retrieve it.’

‘That’s another good reason for placing it here,’ I answered. ‘I would never disturb my master’s grave. May his body rest in peace.’

Grimalkin said nothing, but she stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. I shivered at the expression in her eyes. She was not only a powerful witch, but also an excellent scryer, and you never knew what she glimpsed in the future. Whatever it was, she didn’t tell me. Even if she had, I would have disregarded it because the future is not fixed.

So I put the sword in the grave and we lowered the coffin on top of it. Then we stood there in silence for a few moments. What Grimalkin thought I do not know, but her eyes were downcast.

I do not make a habit of praying, but I remembered what I had said at Dad’s grave; now I repeated the words to myself.

Please, God, give him peace. It’s what he deserves. He was a good hard-working man and I loved him.

For in truth he had been a teacher, a friend and also a father to me.

Then, together, without speaking, Grimalkin and I filled in the grave. The only sounds to be heard were the thrust and lift of our spades, and the soil falling upon the wooden casket. The air was very still; even the birds had fallen silent.

Immediately afterwards, Grimalkin attended to the scar on my face. For some reason known only to herself, it had to be done in the dark. I sat in a chair in a storeroom adjacent to the house.

‘Keep still!’ she hissed. ‘However severe the pain, you must not move.’

I felt her finger touch my face, tracing the line of the scar that began just below my eye. She muttered three words under her breath, and then I felt a strange sensation in my left cheek. At first it felt like ice, then like fire. Whether she cut me with a blade or some other instrument I don’t know. But the pain was intense and I felt blood running down my face.

Although it was extremely difficult, I did not move – though inside I was crying out in pain.

Later I examined my face in a mirror. She had opened the scar again; in my opinion it looked worse than ever. But I thanked her anyway. I didn’t care how I looked any more. I felt flat, my emotions deadened.

At dawn we said a brief goodbye. Grimalkin gave me a nod and headed over to where her horse was grazing. She told me neither where she was bound nor when she would return. I had refused her request to help with the new threat, so we had probably reached the end of our temporary alliance. She would go back to her business of being a witch assassin.

I wondered if I would ever see her again.

That night I dreamed of Alice . . .

Alice looked terrified. She stared up at me and I could see her whole body trembling.

I was shaking too, sick to my stomach.

Alice was tied to a large flat stone on a raised platform.

There was a large mound of stones nearby, but it wasn’t a cairn such as was often found at the peak of a high fell. It was hollowed out, and a fierce fire burned within. It was a furnace created for a terrible purpose.

It was Halloween, and I was about to begin the ritual that would destroy the Fiend.

Standing on the other side of Alice, directly opposite me, was Grimalkin. She was balancing Bone Cutter and the Blade of Sorrow in the palm of her hand. The first would be used to slice the thumb-bones from Alice’s hands; the other to cut her beating heart from her chest.

If Alice cried out while I sliced the first bones, the ritual would fail. Her silence and bravery were essential to a successful outcome.

‘I’m ready, Tom,’ she said softly
.

‘It is time to begin,’ added Grimalkin.

I loved Alice.

And Alice loved me.

But now I was about to kill her
.

‘Goodbye, Tom,’ she said. ‘You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I have no regrets.’

I tried to reply, but my throat seemed to swell and I couldn’t get the words out. My eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Do it now! Quickly!’ Grimalkin commanded.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes and, very gently, took Alice’s left hand. Next I held it firmly against the stone. Now I had to position the knife. I took it from Grimalkin and readied myself for what must be done. It was difficult because my hand was shaking violently, my palms sweating, making it difficult to grip the blade.

I took a deep breath and forced the blade through the base of Alice’s thumb. I was screaming as I did so, but Alice was brave. Not one cry escaped her lips.

I awoke suddenly, my heart racing. It had been a nightmare of what might have been. That terrible dream had seemed real, but we had taken a different path and the future had changed.

Then I became aware of a weight resting on my legs and heard the sound of purring.

So the boggart had survived, after all.

It did not speak to me; it did not demand my blood. Had it done so, I would have given it willingly. John Gregory had begun the process by doing a deal with the boggart to guard the house and garden. My own partnership with the boggart was far closer and I knew not where it would take me. I knew that I was very unusual, but the dark was changing; the battle would perhaps demand different tactics.

We keep notebooks so that we may learn from the past; but now I know that a spook must look to the future, and adapt and change. A wise man continues to learn until the day he dies. John Gregory was wise, and he realized that sometimes a compromise with the dark is necessary. That was perhaps the last lesson that he learned.

LATE IN THE
afternoon the day after we laid the Spook to rest, the bell rang at the withy trees.

I found a red-faced farmer in muddy boots waiting for me there, nervous and frightened and badly needing help.

‘My name’s Morris – Brian Morris from Ruff Lane Farm just south of Grimsargh. There’s a boggart made its home in my barn,’ he told me. ‘It’s throwing great big rocks at the house. One went right through the kitchen window. Luckily my wife had moved away from the sink to tend to the baby. Had she been standing there, she’d have been killed for sure.’

It was routine spook’s business, so I nodded and answered in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘It sounds like you’re under attack from a stone-chucker. Get back home as quickly as possible – you and your family should leave the house. Stay with a neighbour. I’ll follow as soon as I collect my things. With luck, I’ll sort it out tonight. Otherwise two nights at the most and it’ll be gone.’

‘No disrespect, lad, but I’d prefer it if your master attended to my problem.’

‘That won’t be possible,’ I told him firmly. ‘Unfortunately John Gregory is dead. My name is Master Ward, and I’m the Chipenden Spook now. I’m offering you my help.’ I stared hard at him until he lowered his eyes.

‘I won’t be able to pay you right away,’ he said. ‘Times are hard.’

‘After the next harvest will do,’ I replied. ‘Now be on your way. Get your family out and leave the rest to me. I’ll deal with it – don’t worry.’

He turned and, with a barely perceptible nod of acceptance, trudged off into the distance.

I went back to the house to collect my bag – not forgetting a small parcel of cheese for the journey.

My life as the Chipenden Spook had begun.

Once again, I’ve written most of this from memory, just using my notebook when necessary.

I am no longer John Gregory’s apprentice. Now I am the Chipenden Spook, and I must do my best to keep the County safe from ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, witches and all manner of creatures from the dark – some, perhaps, as yet unknown. For, as my master taught me, life as a spook is one long process of learning.

Out there in the County, many incidents are, as yet, unexplained. We can learn from the past by using the legacy of knowledge left to us by former spooks; but the dark is always throwing up new challenges and surprises, and we must adapt and learn to counter any new threat.

Although I am no longer an apprentice, there is one local spook who will still be able to contribute to my learning. Judd Brinscall has offered his aid and experience should I require it. I am practising regularly to enhance my skills with staff and chain, the main weapons of a spook. As for the scar on my face, it is greatly improved. There is now just a faint white diagonal line running down from my eye. So Grimalkin’s magic did its work.

That is the difference between me and previous generations of spooks. I am prepared to accept the use of magic, but only if the ends justify it and there is no cost to others. No doubt that is because of the lamia blood coursing through my veins. And I have another potent ally to help me should I require it – the boggart.

It had been the Spook’s boggart; now it is mine.

But the sword will remain under my master’s coffin. I am sick of killing. Now I will concentrate on dealing with the dark in the County.

As for my master, John Gregory, I will never forget what he did for me. In the eyes of most priests, spooks are no better than witches and cannot be interred in holy ground. Some are buried as close as possible to the boundary of a churchyard. But I didn’t want that for my master.

We buried the Spook in what I guessed must be one of his favourite locations, next to the seat in the western garden – the place where we had often sat for my lessons. It was full of happy memories, with a view of the fells in the distance and the sound of birdsong filling the air. I was the thirtieth and last of his apprentices, and he must have spent many satisfying years here as he trained boys to fight the dark.

One day, perhaps, I will have an apprentice of my own. Maybe this is the place where I will also be buried.

I had the local mason craft a gravestone, and on it carve the following:

HERE LIETH

J
OHN
G
REGORY OF
C
HIPENDEN
,
THE GREATEST OF THE
C
OUNTY SPOOKS

It was a fitting epitaph. What I had ordered to be written there was true; there was no exaggeration. For over sixty years my master had fought the dark and kept the County safe. He had always done his duty, and done it well, displaying great skill and courage. Finally he had laid down his life in order that the Fiend might be destroyed.

But life goes on. Last week I had good news from Jack. Ellie has given birth to a healthy baby boy. They’ve called him Matthew, and now Jack has a son to help with the farm when he is older.

My job now is to keep the County safe from the dark.

If I achieve half as much as my master, I will be satisfied.

Thomas J. Ward

There was a cold draft coming from somewhere; maybe
that
was making the candle flicker to cast strange shadows onto the wall at the foot of the bed. The floor was uneven; perhaps
that
was why the door kept opening by itself as if something invisible was trying to get in.

But those ordinary, commonsensical explanations didn’t work here. As soon as I’d walked into the bedroom I’d known that there was something badly wrong. That’s what my instincts told me and they’ve rarely let me down.

Without doubt the room was haunted by somebody or something. And that’s why I was there, summoned by the landlord of the inn to sort out his problem.

My name is Tom Ward and I’m the Chipenden Spook. I deal with ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, witches and all manner of things that go bump in the night.

After all, someone has to do it.

I walked over to the window and used the sash to raise the lower half. It was about an hour after sunset and a crescent moon was already visible above the distant hills. I was looking down on a graveyard shrouded by trees. This was the village of Kirkby Lonsdale and it was less than twenty miles northeast of Caster, in an isolated location not being on the most direct route from that city to any sizeable town.

I went downstairs, leaving the inn by walking through the front room where three locals were drinking ale by the fire. They stopped talking and all turned to watch me but not one called out a greeting. No doubt any stranger to the village would have received a similar response – silence, curiosity and the drawing together in common defence against the outsider.

Of course, there would be an additional factor here. I was a spook, and although I was needed to deal with threats from the dark I made people nervous and often afraid. Some folk crossed over to the other side of the street to avoid me just in case something from the dark was hovering close to me.

And it was the way of things in the County that, by now, all in the village would know my business here.

A voice did call me as I walked through the front door and out onto the street. ‘Master Ward, a quick word in your ear!’