Wardstone 7 - The Spook's Nightmare (23 page)

‘What about Daniel Stanton’s forces? Did she take prisoners with her?’

‘Just one – Stanton himself. She was in a great hurry to get away – she seemed excited about something, and I don’t think it was just about becoming ruler of Mona. She took no other prisoners. That was the only good thing about the whole business: all the yeomen had been comrades once and they weren’t keen to fight each other, so there were no casualties. Only half a dozen were wounded, and none seriously. Those who
didn’t return to Greeba with Lizzie simply went home.’

‘I wonder why she rushed back so quickly,’ muttered the Spook thoughtfully.

‘Do you think she’s found out about the cavern and what it contains?’ I asked him.

‘It’s possible, lad. If so, she’ll take some stopping, that’s for sure.’ He looked across the table at Simon and Adriana. ‘I think you two will be safe enough here,’ he told them. ‘But as soon as Bony Lizzie gets her hands on that cache of power, she’ll come looking for the three of us. We’ll take the dogs and make ourselves scarce.’

‘There’s an abandoned cottage south of here in Glenmaye,’ Adriana said. ‘It’s not been lived in for years but you’d have a roof over your head.’ Suddenly she blushed. ‘It’s where I used to meet Simon – a place Father didn’t know about. Simon would go and wait for me there and I’d join him if I could get away from the mill. Trust me, you’ll be safe there.’

A
driana gave us a sack of supplies: hams, potatoes, carrots and cheese. It was heavy, so I handed our bags to Alice and carried the sack over my shoulder. Adriana also sent one of the mill workers, a young lad, to guide us.

The cottage stood on the edge of the glen just inside a wood; although the trees had lost their leaves, it was well hidden and could only be reached by a narrow track that twisted its way between the hills. We arrived just before dark and spent an uncomfortable night sleeping on the damp flagged kitchen floor. The following morning we set about making ourselves more comfortable. It was a simple cottage – two up and two
down – and every room was full of rubbish: broken furniture, mildewed blankets, and piles of leaves, blown in through the open doorway – the front door had come off its hinges.

Alice crafted a broom of twigs and set about sweeping the place clean. I laid four big fires, one in each room, so that we were soon warmer and the cottage was starting to dry out a little. I hadn’t the tools to put the door back on its hinges, but I propped it up in the doorway, supported by heavy stones. There was still a draught but it kept most of the chill out.

However, the kitchen was where we felt most comfortable. That night, after a meal of boiled ham and potatoes, we sat cross-legged on the flags close to the fire. We were all tired and the Spook’s head kept nodding forward onto his chest. Soon he was fast asleep. After a while he started to groan and mutter to himself. He sounded scared. At last he opened his eyes wide and woke up with a gasp of terror.

‘What was it – another nightmare?’ I asked.

‘It was more than a nightmare, lad. Lizzie was right
inside my mind, taunting and threatening me. Telling me what she’ll do to me when I fall into her hands once more.’

It saddened me to see my master in this state – and to be powerless to help him. ‘It’s not worth worrying about,’ I told him, attempting to be optimistic. ‘She may be able to torment your mind but she’s a long way away. We’re safe for now.’

The Spook stared at me angrily. ‘Not worth worrying? I’ve every right to be worried. In all my time as a spook I’ve never felt so low and close to defeat. My library and house are gone and I’m exiled here on an island ruled by a witch who’ll only grow more powerful with each day that passes. I’ve never failed to bind a witch before, never missed with my silver chain. And now I’ve failed not once but twice. Lizzie’s proved to be too strong for me. Everything I’ve worked for all these years has been overturned. I never thought it would come to this.’

‘We’ll find a way to deal with Lizzie,’ Alice said. ‘There might be something in that shaman’s notebook
that could help. After all, he worked with the buggane to build that cache of magic.’

‘Using the dark to fight the dark again?’ My master shook his head sadly.

‘No,’ Alice contradicted him. ‘It ain’t that at all. You once asked me to tell Tom what I’d learned from Lizzie so he could write it down in his notebook. You do remember saying that, don’t you?’

The Spook nodded.

‘Well, this is the same. I’m just trying to get information. I’ll start reading at first light.’

‘As long as it’s only reading, girl,’ he warned. ‘Remember, no spells or you’ll answer to me!’

The following morning, after breakfast, Alice started on the shaman’s notebook, but she didn’t find it easy going. Some of it was in code and impossible to decipher. Even the parts that could be read used terms she’d never even heard of. It seemed that animism was a very different type of magic to that taught by Bony Lizzie. However, Alice was not one to give up easily, and she returned again and again to her study of that
notebook. Sometimes she looked excited, as if she’d made some progress, but when I questioned her about it, she shook her head and wouldn’t discuss it with me.

Then, three days after the Spook’s nightmare, I had one of my own.

I was in a dark forest, alone and unarmed. My staff lay somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t find it. I was desperate, because in a few minutes, at midnight, something would be coming after me – something terrible.

Later, when I woke up, I couldn’t remember what it was – dreams are like that sometimes – but I knew it had been sent by a witch seeking revenge for something I’d done to her.

In my dream, a church bell began to chime somewhere in the distance. I froze, petrified, but on the twelfth note I began to run towards it. Branches whipped at my face as I sprinted desperately through the trees. Something was chasing me now, but it wasn’t footsteps that I heard: it was the beating of wings.

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that my pursuer was a large black crow. The sight of it filled me with terror, but I knew that if only I could reach the church I’d be safe. Why that should be I don’t know – churches aren’t usually places of refuge from the dark. Spooks and apprentices relied on the tools of their trade and the knowledge they’d gained. Nevertheless, in that nightmare I knew that I had to reach the church or die.

I suddenly tripped over a root and sprawled headlong. Winded, I struggled to my knees and looked up at the crow, which had alighted on a branch. The air shimmered in front of me and I blinked furiously to clear my vision. When I could finally see again, I was confronted by a figure in a long black dress. She was female from the neck down but had the huge head of a crow.

Even as I stared, the crow’s head began to change. The beak shrank, and the eyes shifted shape until the head was fully human. And I knew that face. It was that of a witch who was now dead.

I must have cried out on awaking from that dream. The Spook was still fast asleep, but as I sat up, shuddering, Alice’s arm went around my shoulders.

‘You all right, Tom?’ she whispered.

I nodded. ‘Just a nightmare – that’s all.’

‘Want to tell me about it?’

I gave Alice a short account of what I’d dreamed. ‘I think the crow was the Morrigan, the dark goddess worshipped by Celtic witches,’ I added. ‘No doubt it harks back to the time when Bill Arkwright and I faced a Celtic witch who’d travelled to the County. She summoned the Morrigan, who attacked me in the shape of a crow, but I somehow managed to drive it off. The witch warned me then never to visit Ireland. She said the Morrigan was much more powerful there and would seek her revenge on me.’

‘Well, that explains your nightmare, Tom. Don’t worry, we’re not in Ireland. We’ll be heading back to the County once we’ve dealt with Lizzie.’

I knew that Alice was just trying to comfort me, but I felt gloomy about the future. ‘There’s little chance of
that while it’s still in enemy hands,’ I observed.

‘As Old Gregory once said, wars don’t last for ever,’ Alice remarked cheerfully. ‘Anyway, what happened to that Celtic witch?’

‘Bill Arkwright killed her with his knife. Right at the end of my nightmare, the crow took on her dead face. That was the scariest thing of all.’

The Spook had become very quiet and withdrawn, giving me just an hour of instruction a day, studying the Old Tongue. Then, using the large notebook that he always carried in his bag, he spent the rest of the time writing. I noticed that he was making sketches as well.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

‘I’ve got to start somewhere, lad,’ he told me in one of his rare talkative moments. ‘All that’s left of my library is the Bestiary, so I’m going to try and rewrite some of the other books that were lost. I’ve got to do it before I forget. I’m starting with
A History of the Dark
. The lessons we learn from history are important – they
keep us from repeating past mistakes.’

I felt that we should be using this time to work out how to deal with Lizzie. Most days we discussed it briefly, but the Spook seemed lost in thought and contributed little to our discussions. Yes, the books did need to be rewritten, but it seemed to me that he was distracting himself from the real problem – a witch who was growing more and more powerful.

Exactly seven days after our arrival at the cottage, we had a visitor: Alice opened the kitchen door to throw out some food scraps and a bird flew straight into the room – a grey pigeon. But instead of flapping about in panic, it landed on the table.

‘Bad luck for a bird to fly into a room!’ Alice said. ‘It means someone’s going to die soon.’

‘Well, you’re not always right, girl. Besides, I think this one has a message for us,’ said the Spook, pointing to a piece of paper tied to the pigeon’s leg.

He held out his hand and the bird hopped onto it. Carefully he took it in his hands and held the creature
out towards me. ‘Untie the message, lad. Be as gentle as you can …’

I did as he asked. The piece of paper was tied on so that it wouldn’t come loose, yet one gentle pull on the end of the string, and the pellet of paper dropped into my hand. While the Spook gave the bird some crusts of bread and water, I unfolded the small square of paper and smoothed it out on the table. The writing was very small and difficult to make out.

‘It’s from Adriana,’ I said. ‘She says it’s safe to return, but there’s bad news as well.’

‘Well, read it out, lad!’

So I did as my master commanded.

‘Dear Mr Gregory, Tom and Alice,
    Soon after you left, the yeomanry
searched the area, but I stayed hidden close
to the house and they passed me by.
    The witch is still at Greeba Keep: I
hear strange tales of what is happening
there, and I have much to tell you, so
please hasten back immediately.
    I have bad news too: five days ago my
mother died. So the witch killed both my
parents. I owe her for that and intend to
repay her fully.
Yours sincerely,
Adriana.’

‘Poor girl,’ said the Spook. ‘Well, let’s get back to the mill and see what the latest news is. I fear the worst.’

Within the hour we were on our way back to Peel.

W
e arrived just in time for the evening meal. Adriana had sent the cook home early and prepared a lamb stew herself. Simon helped serve us. It was the best food I’d eaten in weeks, and she’d provided each of us with a large cup of mead, a delicious drink made from honey, the sweetness tempered with aromatic spices.

When the Spook had offered his condolences for the death of her mother, Adriana had wept bitterly.

‘Well,’ said my master now, sipping from his cup of mead. ‘I’ve tried to be patient but I can’t wait any longer. What are the strange tales from Greeba Keep that you mentioned in your letter?’

‘Terrifying things have been seen in the surrounding woods – all manner of monsters and daemons—’

‘The buggane can take on many different shapes,’ interrupted the Spook.

‘These things weren’t seen in the buggane’s domain,’ Adriana replied, ‘but much further to the north. Sheep and cattle have gone missing too. All that remained was small fragments of bone.’