'Best if we leave the body until morning,' Arkwright suggested.
'Aye, we'll lay him to rest then, if we get the chance,' the Spook agreed. 'How many deserters were there?'
'Five in all,' I replied.
'My guess is that the witch was already free when they crossed the moat into the garden,' Arkwright added. 'Could be that when she attacked and pinned down her prey, the others fled.'
No one spoke for a while. Alice seemed preoccupied. I began to feel very uneasy. The Fiend's daughter was somewhere out there, just waiting her chance. And now there was another water witch free. If she'd escaped across the moat helped by the Fiend, what was there to stop the reverse occurring? Surely he wouldn't find it too difficult to bring them to us? Not to mention the fact that he might pay us a visit himself.
The others placed the chairs close to the stove and made themselves as comfortable as they could. I sat on the kitchen floor, resting my shoulders and head against the wall. It wasn't very comfortable, but despite that and my fear of an attack, I finally managed to drift off into a shallow, fitful sleep. I woke up suddenly. Somebody was shaking my shoulder and a hand was firmly clamped over my mouth.
I looked up into the eyes of the Spook, who pulled me up roughly and gestured urgently towards the far corner of the room. The candles had burned low and the kitchen was gloomy. Alice and Arkwright were already awake; they were sitting beside me, staring into that same dark corner, where something strange and eerie was happening even as we watched. A shape was beginning to materialize, shifting slowly from a faint ashen grey to a flickering silver. It became more distinct, until without doubt I was looking at the Fiend's daughter – her face cadaverous and gaunt, her angular, fleshless nose jutting from between her malevolent eyes; the left lid transfixed by that sliver of bone; the right eye serpentine and cruel.
'I thirst,' she cried, revealing her large canine teeth. 'I thirst for your sweet blood. But I will let you live. All shall live but one. Just give me the boy and the rest may go free.'
It was an image rather than the actual presence of the witch in the room. Although she was apparently standing less than seven paces away, she seemed to call to us from a great distance and I could hear the sighing of the wind in the background.
'My father will pay well for what I ask,' she cried, her voice like the grating of a shingle beach under an ebb tide. 'Give me the boy so that Amelia can be at peace. It's my father who binds her soul, preventing her from passing on. But surrender the boy and he'll release her and both she and Abraham will be free to choose the light. Just give me the boy and it'll be done. Send him alone out onto the marsh. Send him to me now.'
'Go back from whence you came, evil hag!' cried the Spook. 'We'll give you nothing. Nothing but death. Do you hear me? That's all that awaits you here!'
Arkwright remained silent but I thought that Morwena's cruel words must be like a blade twisting inside him. Above all things he wanted peace for his mam and dad. But despite the way he had treated me, I had faith in him. I believed that he served the light and would be strong enough to resist any temptation that the Fiend's daughter might dangle before him.
The image of Morwena seemed to shimmer and blur; she touched her finger to her left lid and her eye opened wide. But fortunately that baleful eye was powerless, for its blood-red colour was transmuted into silver.
Now she began to chant, her voice reaching a high eldritch note. There was rhythm, intonation and rhyme, the whole filled with a terrible power. But what exactly was being chanted? What did it mean? It sounded to me like the 'Old Tongue' – that spoken by the first men who lived in the County.
My limbs seemed to be growing heavy and I felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. I tried to stand but couldn't. Too late I knew what the Fiend's daughter was doing. Those ancient words were a curse, an act of powerful dark magic that was sapping our strength and our will.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the Spook had somehow managed to rise to his feet. He pulled back his robe and reached into his breeches pockets. Then he hurled something straight at that evil apparition – something white from his right hand, something dark from his left: a mixture of salt and iron, usually so effective against creatures of the dark. Would it work this time – when the substance of our enemy wasn't even present in the room?
Immediately the chanting ceased and the image vanished as suddenly as a snuffed candle-flame. I felt relief flood through me and staggered unsteadily to my feet. The Spook shook his head wearily.
'That was close,' said Arkwright. 'For a moment I thought it was all over with us.'
'Aye, I wouldn't dispute that,' said the Spook. 'Never have I come up against a witch with such power. I suppose it comes from that dark devil blood that runs in her veins. The County will be a far better place if we can put an end to her. But now I think we should all try to stay awake for the rest of the night. If she repeats that and only one of us is on watch, she might somehow, even at a distance, slay us in our sleep.'
We did as the Spook suggested, but first I built up the fire again and left the door of the stove open so that it radiated heat directly into the room. We lit another two candles so that the light might last us until morning. I also filled my pockets with salt and iron from my bag so that I had one more weapon ready to use against the dark. But once settled down, nobody spoke. I looked sideways at Alice but she was staring down at the floorboards and looked terrified. Both the Spook and Arkwright looked grim and determined but I wondered how they felt inside. After all, what could anyone do against power such as the Fiend's? As for Arkwright, he must be pondering what the witch had said – that it was her father's dark power that prevented his poor mam from crossing to the light.
What could he hope to do about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. If that were true, their spirits were trapped in the mill until the world itself came to an end.
The first thing that warned me of danger was the silence. It was intense. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all. The second was that I was unable to move. I was sitting on the floor as before, resting my head against the wall. I tried to turn my head and look at Alice, but my body refused to obey. I tried to speak to warn the others of my fears but couldn't even open my mouth.
I could see a candle on the floor opposite, set within reach of the Spook. Moments earlier it had been flickering but it was now perfectly still. It looked as if it had been carved from metal; it seemed to reflect light rather than cast it. On my left was the stove with its open door; I could see the flames within but each was static. Then I realized that I wasn't breathing. In a panic, I tried to take a breath but nothing happened. Yet I felt no pain. My body wasn't crying out for air. My insides seemed too still and quiet. Had my heart stopped beating? Was I dead?
But then I remembered that I'd felt a little like this before – on the barge as we travelled towards Caster with the Fiend in the guise of the bargeman. Then the Devil had been tampering with time; it had passed too quickly. But I knew that this was different. I knew exactly what had happened – the Fiend had halted time itself.
I heard a noise from the shadows in the far corner of the room: a thump followed immediately by a sizzling, hissing sound. It was repeated twice more.
Suddenly I could smell burning. Wood smoke. The floorboards. And then I saw that although time had stopped and everything within the room seemed to be frozen into immobility, one thing was moving. And what else could move but the Fiend himself?
I couldn't see him yet – he was invisible – but I could see his footprints advancing towards me. Each time one of his unseen feet made contact with the floorboards, it burned the shape of a cloven hoof into the wood, which glowed red before darkening with a spluttering hiss. Would he make himself visible? The thought was terrifying. I'd been told by Grimalkin that to inspire awe and force obeisance he'd appeared in his true majestic shape to the covens at Halloween.
According to the Spook, some people believed his true form was so terrible that anyone who saw
it would instantly drop dead. Was that just a scary bedtime tale or was it real? Would he do that to me now?
Something began to materialize – no grey or silver phantasm but a solid-looking shape. However, it was not the terrifying apparition I'd feared. Once again, the Fiend had taken the shape of Matthew Gilbert, the bargeman, who now stood before me in boots and jerkin, exactly as I'd first seen him; smiling the same friendly, confident smile.
'Well, Tom,' he said, 'as I told you the last time we met, the difference between fiend and friend is only one letter. Which one shall I be to you? That's the choice you must make in the next few minutes. And upon that decision rests your own life as well as the fate of your three companions.'
CHAPTER 27
A hard bargain
'Move your head, if you wish,' the Fiend said with a smile. 'It will make things easier. You'll be able to see better and I don't want you to miss a thing. So what is it to be? Friend or foe?'
I felt a lurch as my heart began to thump very hard in my chest and I sucked in a big breath. I turned my head slightly, instinctively checking to see that Alice was all right. She was still and quiet but her eyes were wide with fear. Could she also see the Fiend? If so, she was still frozen in time just like the Spook and Arkwright. Only the Fiend and I seemed able to move but I felt very weak and knew I lacked the strength to climb to my feet. Yet I opened my mouth and found I could speak. I turned my gaze back towards my enemy and gave him my answer.
'You're the dark made flesh. You can never be my friend.'
'Don't be so sure about that, Tom. We are closer than you think. Far closer. Believe it or not, we know each other very well. Let's take a question that each human being considers at some time in his or her brief life. Some answer it quickly and hardly ever think about it again. Some are believers. Some sceptics. Some debate it in anguish for the duration of their lives. It's a simple question, Tom, and this is it. Do you believe in God?'
I believed in the light. As for God, I wasn't sure. But my dad had believed and maybe, deep down, the Spook also believed, though he hardly ever talked about such things. He certainly didn't believe in an authoritative old man with a white beard, the deity of the Church.
'I'm not sure,' I answered truthfully.
'Not sure, Tom? Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face! Would God allow so much evil into the world?' the Fiend continued. 'Disease, starvation, poverty, war and death – that's all you poor humans have to look forward to. Would such a God let the war continue? Of course not – therefore he simply cannot exist. All those churches, all that worship by devout but misguided congregations. And all for what? For nothing! Nothing at all! Their prayers go out into the void and are unheard.
'But if we ruled, together we could change everything and make this world a better place for all. So what do you say? Will you help me to do that, Tom?
Will you stand at my side? We could achieve so much together!'
'You are my enemy,' I said. 'We could never work together.'
Suddenly I began to shiver with fear. I remembered the 'hobbles' that the Spook had told me about – the limitations placed on the Fiend's power that he'd read about in Mam's books. The Fiend wanted me to work with him so that he could rule here until the end of the world. If he killed me himself, he'd only rule for a century. So would he do that now – kill me anyway because I'd refused?
'Sometimes it's very difficult to rule, Tom,' the Fiend said, stepping closer. 'Sometimes hard, painful decisions have to be made. As you refuse my offer, you give me no alternative. You must die so that I can bring about a better world for all humanity. My daughter awaits you in the marsh. There you must kill or be killed.'
So he'd decided to let her kill me instead. That way the hobbles would be nullified and he would grow in power until he finally ruled the world.
'Her against me?' I protested. 'No! I'll not go out to meet her. Let her come to me.'
I thought of her out there in the marsh, at her strongest; of the peril of that blood-filled eye. I'd be helpless – fixed to the spot within seconds. Then slain, my throat ripped out like the bargeman's.
'You're in no position to make the rules, boy. Go out there and face her if you want your companions to live,' said the Fiend. 'I could slay them in a second while they're powerless before me . . .'
He leaned forward and rested his hand lightly on the top of Alice's head. Then he spread his fingers. It was a big hand and seemed to be expanding even as I watched. Now the whole of Alice's head was enclosed by the span of that huge hand.
'All I have to do is clench my fist, Tom, that's all – her head will be crushed like an eggshell. Should I do it now? Do you need to see how easy it is for me?'
'No! Please!' I cried out. 'Don't hurt her. Don't hurt any of them. I'll go to the marsh. I'll go right now!'
I lurched to my feet, snatched up my staff and moved towards the door. There I paused and looked back at my enemy. What if I released the blade in my staff and attacked him? Would I have a chance? But it would be futile and I knew it. The instant I moved towards him I'd be frozen in time again, just as helpless as the Spook, Alice and Arkwright.
I nodded towards them. 'If I survive, or I win . . .? Will you let them live?'
The Fiend smiled. 'If you win, they will live – at least for a while. If you die, I will kill them too. So you fight for the lives of these three as well as your own.'
I knew my chances of defeating the Fiend's daughter on the marsh were slim. How could my staff and chain be strong enough against her powers? And Alice, the Spook and Arkwright would die with me. But there was something I might achieve before that happened. One last thing to be bought with my death. It was certainly worth a try . . .
'One more thing,' I said. 'Give me that and I'll go to the marsh now. Life is short and everybody has to die sometime but it's a terrible thing to be tormented afterwards. Arkwright's mam and dad have suffered enough – whether I win or lose, will you release Amelia's soul so that they can both go to the light?'
'Win or lose? You drive a hard bargain, Tom.'
'No harder than the task you set me. You expect me to die. That's what you want. Is that fair? At least give me what I ask so it won't all have been for nothing.'
He stared hard at me for a moment and then his face relaxed. He'd made his decision. 'Then so be it. I'll grant your wish.'
Without a backward glance, I left the kitchen, ran through the other room and out into the night. As I moved further into the garden I felt a change. Outside the house, time was moving forward normally. But it wasn't a good night to venture out onto the marsh.
A thick mist had descended: the visibility was down to about ten paces. Overhead, the orb of the moon was just visible, so there wasn't much depth to the mist; but that wouldn't help me on the marsh, where the land was low and flat. How I wished I could have Claw with me but I assumed she was frozen in time like the others.
I paused on the edge of the moat and took a deep breath. Once across it, I would face the Fiend's daughter. She would be waiting out there; the darkness and mist would be to her advantage. I advanced onto the marsh cautiously. It was a pity I'd only practised being hunted by the dogs once, otherwise I'd now know the meandering paths much better.
Deep, stagnant water or treacherous bog lay on either side of the paths. I'd seen the way Morwena leaped out of the water like a salmon. I had to be prepared for a similar attack now. The threat might come from either side of any path I trod. As for weapons, I had my staff and I now felt in the pocket of my cloak and my fingers closed over the silver chain. It was reassuring to feel it there. Finally I had salt and iron, but that could only be used as a last resort, when staff and chain were no longer an option and both hands were free.
Suddenly an eerie sound echoed over the marsh. It was the unmistakable cry of the corpsefowl, the witch's familiar. She had an extra pair of eyes free to soar into the sky; the bird would be searching for me now. No doubt the Fiend had already told his daughter that I was on my
way. The bird's cry had come from the west, somewhere close to the mere where I'd met Morwena and been hooked through the ear. So I took the most southerly of the paths available to me. I didn't want to meet the witch there, near the deep water.