It was an old church, almost hidden by the ancient yew trees clustered about it. Some of the stones marked the graves of locals who'd died centuries earlier. I saw Morgan in the distance, silhouetted against the grey sky, leaning on his staff, his hood up against the cold. He was in the newest part of the churchyard, where those who'd died relatively recently were buried.
At first he didn't acknowledge me. His head was bent down towards a grave, his eyes closed as if he were praying. I stared down too in astonishment. The churchyard was either inches or feet deep in snow, the result of last night's wind, but this grave was completely free of it, just an oblong of wet soil. It was almost as if it had been freshly dug. I looked around but could see no sign of a spade or any other implement that could have been used to clear away the snow.
'Read the inscription on the stone!' Morgan commanded, looking at me for the first time.
I did as I was told. Four bodies had been buried in the same grave, stacked one above the other as was the County custom, in order to save space in the churchyard and ensure that kin were together in death. Three were children but the last one was their mother. The children had died fifty or so years earlier, aged two, one and three years old respectively. The mother had died recently and her name was Emily Burns, the woman the Spook had once been involved with. The woman he'd taken from one of his own brothers, Father Gregory.
'She had a hard life,' Morgan said. 'Lived most of it in Blackrod, but when she knew she was dying, she came here to spend her last months with her sister. Losing three children like that broke her heart, and even after all those intervening years she never fully recovered. Four others lived though. Two are working in Horwich and have families of their own. The eldest left the County ten years ago and I've heard nothing of him since. I was the seventh and the last...'
It took a few moments before it all started dropping into place. I remembered what the Spook had said to him in the bedroom at the Hursts':
'I cared about you and I cared about your mother. I loved her once, as you well know ...'
I also remembered how he'd signed his letter to me with the initial 'G'.
'Yes,' he said. 'Soon after I was born, my father left the family home for the last time. He never married my mother. Never gave us his name. But I took it anyway.'
I looked up at him in astonishment.
'Yes,' he said with a grim smile. 'Emily Burns was my real mother. I'm John Gregory's son.'
Morgan stared into the distance as he spoke. 'He left us. Left his children. That's not what a father should do, is it?'
I wanted to defend the Spook but I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.
'He did provide for us financially though,' Morgan said. 'I'll give him that. We managed for a while, but then my mother had a breakdown and couldn't cope. Each of us was fostered out to a family. I drew the short straw and ended up with the Hursts. But when I was seventeen, my father came back for me and took me on as his apprentice.
'For a while, I'd never been happier. I'd wanted a father for so long and now I had one, so I was desperate to please him. I tried really hard at first, but I suppose I couldn't forget what he'd done to my mother, and gradually I began to see through him. After three years he was starting to repeat himself. I already knew everything he did and more besides. I knew I could be better and stronger than him. I'm the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son. A three times seven.'
I heard the note of arrogance in his voice and it annoyed me. 'Is that why you didn't write your name on the bedroom wall at Chipenden like all the other apprentices?' I blurted out. 'Is it because you think you're better than the rest of us? Better than the Spook?'
Morgan smirked. 'I won't deny it. That's why I left to follow my own path. I'm mainly self-taught but I'm still learning. And I can do things that old fool never even dreams of. Things that he's afraid to try. Think about it! Knowledge and power like mine - and the assurance that your father rests in peace. That's what I'm offering you in return for a little bit of help ...'
I was astonished by all that Morgan was telling me. If what he said was true, it showed the Spook in a really bad light. I already knew that he'd left Emily Burns for Meg. But now I'd just discovered that he was a father, who'd had seven sons by her but had left them all. I felt hurt inside and let down. I kept thinking about my own dad, who'd stayed with his family and worked hard all his life. And now he could suffer at the whim of Morgan. I was upset and angry. The graveyard seemed to lurch up into the sky and I almost fell.
'Well, my young apprentice, have you brought it for me?'
My face must have looked blank.
'The grimoire, of course. I asked you to bring it to me. I hope you've obeyed me or your poor father will really suffer.'
'I haven't been able to get it. Mr Gregory has eyes in the back of his head,' I said, hanging my head.
I certainly wasn't going to tell Morgan that my master was at the mercy of Meg. If he thought the Spook was out the way he might just go and help himself to the grimoire. Yes, my master might have some terrible dark secrets, but I was still his apprentice and I respected him. I needed more time. Time to rescue my master and tell him all about Morgan. Together we'd defeated the stone-chucker; surely together we could stop Morgan.
'I need more time,' I said. T can do it but I need to wait for an opportunity.'
'Well, don't take too long about it. Bring the book to me next Tuesday night, soon after sunset. Remember the chapel in the graveyard?'
I nodded.
'Well, that's where I'll be waiting.'
'I don't think I can do it that quickly-'
'Find a way!' he snarled. 'And do it without Gregory realizing that it's gone.'
'What will you do with it?' I asked.
'Well, Tom, when you bring it to me you'll find out, won't you? Don't let me down! If you start to waver, think of your poor father and what he could be made to suffer ...'
I knew how cruel Morgan could be. I'd seen the way he'd reduced poor Mr Hurst to tears; heard Alice's account of how he'd dragged the old man to his room and locked him inside. If Morgan could hurt my dad, he would do it, I was in no doubt about that.
And then, as I stood there trembling, right inside my head I heard once again my father's anguished voice as, all around me, the air shivered and moved.
'Please, son, I'm begging you, do as he asks or I'll be tortured for all eternity. Please, son, just get it for him.'
As the voice faded away, Morgan smiled grimly. 'Well, you heard what your father said. So you'd better be a dutiful son . ..'
With that he smiled grimly, turned on his heel and left the graveyard.
I knew that it was certainly wrong to steal the grimoire for Morgan, but as I watched him go, I knew that I'd no choice. Somehow I'd have to get it as we rescued the Spook.
Chapter 15
When I got back to Andrew's premises, Alice was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. It was ham and eggs and it smelled wonderful.
'You were out early this morning, Tom,' she said. T was aching after sleeping on the settee,' I lied. 'I needed to stretch my legs a bit.'
'Well, you'll feel a lot better after your breakfast.' T can't, Alice. It's best to fast when you're about to face the dark.'
'Can't believe a few mouthfuls would do you that much harm!' she protested.
I didn't bother to argue. There were things she'd told me about witchcraft that I took with a pinch of salt;
while there were things the Spook considered to be the gospel truth that brought a smile of derision to her face. So I just kept my silence and watched her and Andrew eat while my mouth watered.
After breakfast we set off straight away for the Spook's house. It was still mid-morning but the light was deteriorating fast, the sky heavy with dark clouds. It looked like more snow was on the way.
We left Andrew at the foot of the clough. He was going to wait ten minutes to allow us time to get up onto the moor above the house. Later, after he'd knocked at t
he door, he'd move away and watch from a distance, hoping to see us emerge and signal our success.
'Good luck, but don't keep me waiting too long,' Andrew said, 'or I'll freeze to death!'
I waved goodbye and, carrying the plank and my staff, and with the small crowbar tucked away in the inside pocket of my jacket, set off up the side of the moor. As we trudged upwards, me in the lead and Alice on my heels, the snow crunched under our feet and it was starting to freeze harder. I began to worry about the climb down to the house. It would be slippery and dangerous.
Soon we started to descend a path into the clough. This path then became a ledge, with the cliff on our left and a sheer drop to our right.
'Watch your step, Alice!' I warned. It was a long way down. One slip and we'd need scraping up with a spade.
A few moments later and we came in sight of the house; there we halted. As agreed, we were waiting for the sound of Andrew approaching from the front.
It was about five minutes before we heard boots crunching through the freezing snow far below. Somewhere down there a very nervous Andrew would be walking round the side of the house and up to the back door. Quickly I stood up and began to carry the plank towards the house. When we arrived at the rear, facing the back window, I knelt down and tried to position the plank. I managed to rest the far end on the window ledge first time. What bothered me was that the ledge wasn't that wide. I was scared that the plank might slip off as I crossed and I'd fall down into the yard below. So it was important that Alice steadied it on the cliff edge.
'Put your foot on that!' I whispered, indicating the near edge of the plank.
Alice did as I asked. I hoped it would prevent it from moving. Handing Alice my staff, I knelt on the plank and prepared to crawl across. It wasn't far but I was nervous, and at first my limbs refused to obey me. It was a long way down to the snow-covered flags below. At last I began to crawl along, trying not to look down at the sheer drop. Soon I was kneeling close to the window ledge; once there, I tugged the small crowbar from my jacket pocket and positioned it at the bottom of the window frame. At that very moment Andrew knocked loudly on the back door almost directly below me.
Three loud raps echoed down the clough. At each rap I worked the bar, trying to lever the sash window upwards. In the pause that followed I became perfectly still.
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Again I worked at the window, but without a hint of success. I began to wonder how many times Andrew would knock before his nerve failed him. Maybe the catch was stronger than I'd anticipated. How many chances would we get? Maybe the witch would answer the door after all. If so, I wouldn't want to be in Andrew's shoes.
Rap! Rap! Rap!
This time, at last, I was successful. I levered the window up and, once there was sufficient gap, lifted it with both hands.
Rap! Rap! Rap! came the sound from below. Had I looked down I could have seen Andrew, but I fixed my gaze upon the window ledge and pulled myself through the window and into the room before returning the crowbar to my pocket. Alice leaned across and handed my staff to me, then came across the plank faster than I had. Once inside we heaved it across, just in case Meg came out into the yard and saw it from below. Then we closed the window.
That done, we sat together on the floor in the gloom, listening carefully. There were no more raps on the front door. I hadn't heard it opening, so I hoped Andrew had got away safely. The sound I dreaded now was that of Meg climbing the stairs. Had she heard the window being forced?
I'd already agreed with Alice that, if we got inside the house safely, we'd wait for fifteen minutes or so before making our move. The first step would be to get my bag from the Spook's study. Once the silver chain was in my hands, our chances of success were much higher.
But I hadn't told Alice what Morgan wanted me to do. I hadn't told her about the grimoire because I knew she'd say I was a fool to give it to him. But it was all very well for her to talk like that. It wasn't her dad who might suffer. His voice pleading in the dark kept coming back to haunt me. It was all too much to bear.
If I could rescue the Spook and somehow bind Meg,
I was going to come back up to the attic. I had to do it. It was betraying the Spook but I couldn't let Dad suffer any more. So we waited and waited, listening nervously to every creak of the old house.
When about a quarter of an hour had passed, I tapped Alice lightly on the shoulder, stood up carefully, picked up my staff and moved cautiously towards the bedroom door.
It wasn't locked and I eased it open and stepped out onto the landing. It was even gloomier on the stairs, with a pool of darkness waiting for us below. I moved downwards, one slow step, pausing to listen before taking a second one. That became the pattern: step, pause and listen; step, pause and listen. At one point the stair creaked beneath my feet. We froze and waited for five minutes at least, thinking that we might have awakened the witch. And when Alice's feet caused a second creak from that same stair, we had to repeat the process! It took a long time, but at last we reached the ground floor.
Moments later we were inside the Spook's study. It was brighter in there, and I could see my own bag still in the corner where I'd left it, but of the Spook's bag there was no sign. I took the silver chain and coiled it round my left hand and wrist, ready for throwing. That was my throwing arm: when practising in the Spook's garden, I could cast the chain over a post eight feet away, nine times out of ten. So now, face to face with either the feral lamia or Meg, I had a good chance of success. An attack by both at the same time would be a different story and I didn't like to think about that.
Next I leaned forward and put my lips close to Alice's ear.
'See if the key is on top of the bookcase,' I whispered, pointing upwards to the spot.
There was a chance that Meg would keep the key to the gate close by her side, but I was remembering what the Spook had once told me about her: that she was methodical and always kept things in their proper place. He'd been talking about pots and pans, knives and forks. Would she do the same thing with the key? It was well worth checking to see.
So while Alice carried a chair across and positioned it next to the bookcase, I stood guard by the open door, my chain at the ready. She climbed up onto the chair and felt carefully across the upper surface of the top shelf before smiling broadly and holding up the key.
I'd been right! We had the key to the gate!
Still gripping the chain, I picked up my staff and cautiously led the way out of the study towards the steps down to the cellar. I'd expected Meg to be awake but I could hear the sound of her breathing in the kitchen, the air whistling out of her mouth as she exhaled. She was sound asleep, and so far our luck had more than held.
One option would have been to go straight into the kitchen and bind Meg while she was still sleeping, but I needed the chain to face the threat from the feral lamia in the cellar. We moved slowly down the steps, Alice now in the lead, until we reached the gate. This was a dangerous moment and I'd already explained how a clang from the gate could resonate right through the house. But Alice inserted the key into the lock very carefully and twisted it without a sound. She managed to do the same when moving the gate, which we left open in case we needed to get out of the cellar fast.
It was very dark below and I tapped Alice lightly on the shoulder, the signal to halt. I pushed the chain back into my pocket, leaned my staff carefully against the wall and, using my tinderbox, lit a candle stub and handed it to Alice. Once again I followed one step behind her, chain and staff at the ready. The candle was a calculated risk because, although the steps spiralled downwards, a glimmer of light might reach the cellar to alert the feral lamia. But we really needed some light to attend to the Spook properly and get him out of his cell. As it happened, it proved to be the right decision...
Suddenly Alice gasped, came to a sudden halt and pointed downwards. A cold draught was coming up the steps from the cellar, making the candle flame dance and flicker, and by its light I glimpsed a dar
k shape moving rapidly up the steps towards us. For a moment, my heart racing, I thought it was the feral lamia: I stepped down alongside Alice, raised my left hand and prepared to cast the silver chain.
But as the draught from below ceased, the light steadied and I saw that the rapid movement of the dark shape was an illusion caused by the flicker of the flame. Something was moving up the steps, but it was crawling; dragging itself upwards so incredibly slowly that it would take a long time to reach the gate.
It was Bessy Hill, the other live witch - the one who'd been in the pit next to the feral lamia. Her grey hair was long and greasy and heaving with small black insects, while her tattered gown was stained with mildew and patches of slime. She was slowly dragging her body up the stairs, but although she'd managed to get free of her grave, years of surviving on a diet of slugs, worms and other creepy-crawlies meant that she hadn't much power at her disposal. Of course, it might have been a very different story if we'd blundered into her in the dark.
We came to a halt. If she managed to get a grip on one of our ankles it would be hard to prise her off. She wanted blood desperately and would fasten her teeth into any warm flesh that came near. A mouthful of blood would immediately make her much stronger and more dangerous. It was scary, but we had to get past her.
I moved downwards nervously, gesturing to Alice that she should follow behind me. The steps were broad and we were able to give the witch a wide berth. I wondered how she'd managed to escape from her pit. One possibility was that the feral lamia had bent the bars for her. Or maybe Meg had released her. As we passed, I glanced down at her quickly. Her head was facing towards us but her eyes were tightly closed. Her mouth was open though, and her long purple tongue was protruding down onto the step, as if licking something from the damp stone. She sniffed, snuffled, twisted her head upwards and tried to lift her hand. When she opened her eyes they were like points of fire burning in the dark.
We moved downwards quickly, leaving her behind. When we reached the landing with the three doors, I handed my staff to Alice. She accepted it with a grimace. She didn't like to touch rowan wood. But I was already pulling my own key from my pocket and it was the work of a moment to unlock the door to the Spook's cell.