So that’s what I could hear now—the ghast of the miner digging his wife’s early grave. If Jenny truly had the abilities she claimed, she would be able to hear it too. It was truly terrifying.
John Gregory had come up with this effective means of testing his apprentices. After all, what was the point of training someone for weeks, only to have them flee from the first really scary thing they encountered? There was no doubt: it was a hard job. You had to be tough to do it.
Suddenly the sound of digging stopped and the cellar grew quiet, a stillness that seemed to fill the whole house. Then there was a sequence of thumps. Heavy invisible boots were climbing up the cellar steps toward the kitchen. The ghast was moving away from me.
It was approaching Jenny.
A ghast feeds on fear and draws strength from it. The more scared Jenny was, the scarier the encounter would be for her.
After a while the invisible boots descended the steps again and crossed the earth floor of the cellar, passing very close to where I was sitting.
Next, the expected knocking on the front door began. It went on for a long time, but Jenny had listened to me, and I didn’t hear her respond.
When the distant chimes of the clock chimed half eleven, the ghast’s digging started up once more. But to my surprise, it didn’t climb the stairs this time. Jenny must have shown a brave face, which meant that the ghast had nothing to feed on and wouldn’t bother her again.
There was no doubt about it: courage made spook’s business much easier, and Jenny clearly possessed it in abundance. Of course, that was if she really was sensitive enough to experience the full horror of the ghasts. The next half hour passed slowly. Then at last I heard the clock chime twelve to mark midnight.
I waited expectantly for the sound of Jenny coming down the cellar steps.
But the whole house was silent.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep and hadn’t heard the chimes? I thought. Her terrible experience at the hands of the Kobalos had taken a lot out of her, after all. So I was patient. I waited for the next chime to mark the half hour. Then I climbed the steps.
The front room was empty. The door was wide open.
Jenny had fled into the night.
11
A Rare and Special Type
I started searching around for her. Perhaps she hadn’t gone far. . . . I walked up the hill, keeping to the main lane but checking each cobbled street to my right and left as I passed by.
Had she been lured into opening the door to the street ghast?
I didn’t think so. I’d warned Jenny about that. She was sensible and would have resisted, just as I had during my test.
It seemed likely that she had simply given in to her fear and run, meaning that she had failed the test.
After about an hour, I stood on the steep grassy slope that led up to the slag heaps and mine workings and looked down at the village. Nothing was moving below. But for the wind sighing across the hill, all was silent. Everybody who wasn’t down the mine working the night shift was safely tucked up in bed.
I gave up and walked through the night toward Chipenden. And as I did so, my doubts came rushing back. The truth is, I wasn’t ready to take on a trainee. Although a practicing spook, with a good number of successes under my belt, I was hardly more than an apprentice myself. I reckoned I needed at least five more years before I had the knowledge and experience to train someone properly.
Not only that. She was a girl, and as far as I knew there were no precedents for a female apprentice spook. It might cause all sorts of problems. And who knew what powers a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter possessed? I had been hasty in taking her on—perhaps I’d done so to make up for almost getting her killed by the Kobalos. I knew that she could hide and make herself difficult to detect, but did she have any immunity to witchcraft? Could she really hear the dead and talk to them, as she’d claimed?
To tell the truth, my feelings were mixed. Although I had no evidence that she really was a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, I had expected her to pass the test. In my mind I had gotten used to the idea of her being my apprentice. I was lonely—that came with the job, of course, but since my master died I’d been completely alone. Alice had left us and gone to the dark for good. I would have liked to have someone else living in the house again; someone to work with. I remembered something Alice had once said to me, back in the first year of my apprenticeship: “One day this house will belong to us, Tom. Don’t you feel it?”
A lump came into my throat as I heard her utter those words again. Loneliness was a terrible thing, I reflected.
When Jenny first told me her name, I had been stunned, taken back to the vision of the future I’d been given by the mage . . . of the new name added to the list on my bedroom wall in the Chipenden house.
Jenny.
I shrugged in annoyance. Scrying did not always foretell the future accurately. The future could be changed with each decision we made, with every step we took or failed to take.
Jenny’s steps had been in the wrong direction—away from the cellar. She had failed the test, and now her name would never be written on that wall.
Whatever the future might bring, I remembered with a curse that Jenny still had the tinderbox that Dad had given me. I wanted it back. If she didn’t return it, at some point I would have to return to Grimsargh to collect it.
The next two days were quiet. Nobody rang the bell at the withy trees crossroads. So while waiting for Grimalkin to return, I spent my time on routine business. I put in some hours of practice with my chain and staff, determined to get my skills back up to their former level, and taking out my annoyance with Jenny on the tree stump.
I also started to read the Spook’s notebooks again, in case I’d missed any mention of the Kobalos. There was only the short section in the Bestiary, but it comforted me to read my master’s words and to hear his voice in my head.
John Gregory had written and illustrated the Bestiary himself, and now I read his final words about the loss by fire of his beloved library and the books it contained; books that were a bequest from past spooks to those yet to ply their trade.
Now I have had time to reflect, and I am filled with renewed strength and determination. My fight against the dark will continue. One day I will rebuild the library, and this book, my personal Bestiary, will be the first to be placed upon its shelves.
John Gregory of Chipenden
Before he had died in battle, my master had made good that promise. He had rebuilt the house and library. Unfortunately, as yet, there were precious few books restored to those new wooden shelves. That would be my task. During my lifetime as a spook, in addition to fighting the dark, I would endeavor to restock the Chipenden library.
It was early in the morning of the third day after Jenny had fled that Grimalkin arrived. I heard her call through the trees and went to the edge of the garden to escort her to the house and tell the boggart that she was here with my permission.
She’d arrived on horseback, and after taking a large envelope from her saddlebag, she left the animal grazing in the western garden. She greeted me curtly, and we walked toward the house in silence.
The witch assassin looked much as she had when I first met her. As usual, leather straps crisscrossed her body, holding a large number of blades. There were a few bloodstains on her clothes, but I doubted very much that they were her own.
“Is the leg giving you any problems?” I asked her.
Her left leg had been badly broken when she was attacked by the servants of the Fiend. It had been fixed with a silver pin that, although it restored that limb to its previous strength, gave her continual pain.
“Why do you ask?”
“The horse,” I said. “At one time you used to walk or run everywhere.”
She shook her head. “The leg gives me pain but functions as well as it ever did. I need the horse because recently it has been necessary to cover long distances faster than is possible on foot.”
/> I nodded, wondering where her latest journeys had taken her, but she didn’t elaborate. What she did as a witch assassin was her business.
I led her into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Water will suffice for now.”
I poured her a large cup of water and she drank it down quickly.
“Did you bury the creature?” she asked.
“No, because I thought you’d want to see it. I left it inside its lair.”
“It will be stinking by now—but yes, you were right not to do so. I want to examine it. Is it far from here?”
“About forty-five minutes by foot.”
“Then let’s waste no further time. How did you kill it?”
“With the sword you gave me. The beast had powerful dark magic. It shrank in size and slipped out of my silver chain. I was helpless against it. It paralyzed me for a while, but I managed to escape and ran back to get the sword.”
“You dug it up out of John Gregory’s grave?”
I bowed my head. “I had no choice. The creature held a girl captive. It was drinking her blood and would eventually have killed her.”
“You needed the sword just to survive, then. . . . It sounds as though you were dealing with a very rare type of Kobalos. You were a fool to bury the sword in the first place,” Grimalkin said bluntly. “I expected better of you.”
I did not reply. I knew that she was right.
“If it is who I think it is,” she continued, “you were lucky to prevail, even using the sword.”
“You know the creature?”
“Perhaps. I will find out soon enough. Here.” She placed the envelope on the table. “This is a copy of a document that your master once had in his possession. It is a glossary of information about the Kobalos, collated by an ancient spook called Nicholas Browne. I suggest you study it closely.”
I knew the name. Browne was mentioned by John Gregory in an annotation marked in his Bestiary; Nicholas was his source of information on the Kobalos.
“Where did you find this document?” I asked.
“I came across it when searching for information in the northern lands that border the Kobalos territories. They make a study of their ancient enemy and keep their own archives. This is the most succinct and useful description of the Kobalos and their practices that I have ever encountered. It is a good place to start; we can add to it as we learn more.”
I noted that she had said “we” rather than “I.” It seemed that she took for granted that I would be joining her in her enterprise.
I picked up the envelope, but Grimalkin shook her head. “There will be time enough to study that later. Let us go and see this creature’s lair.”
I didn’t bother to take my staff. With Grimalkin by my side, I knew I wouldn’t need it. Instead I collected a spade from the lean-to and carried it resting against my shoulder.
As we walked, I told her in more detail what had happened: how three County girls had died, how Jenny had told me of the beast’s whereabouts. Then how, after we had been taken prisoner, I’d run back to get the sword and returned in time to save her. But I didn’t mention taking Jenny on as my apprentice or that she’d fled from the haunted house at Horshaw. It wasn’t relevant to the business at hand.
At last we reached the huge oak tree. We heard the flies before we saw them. And there were even more inside the trunk—big buzzing bluebottles, most of them crawling upon the dead body of the beast; the face was already writhing with maggots. The stench was so appalling we had to cover our noses with our hands.
Grimalkin muttered something under her breath, and the buzzing ceased. I heard the ping of flies falling to the floor, slain by her magic. Then she brushed the dead flies and maggots off the creature’s face and stared at it for a long time.
“What do you think I should do if I encounter another of these creatures?” I said, interrupting the silence. “If I captured one alive, could it be contained within a pit like a witch?”
“It would be safe enough if you cut out its tongue and stitched its lips together for good measure,” said the witch assassin, “but my advice to you is never to take such a chance. Kill it at the first opportunity. These creatures have powerful magic—some, such as shifting size, are innate and do not even require a dark spell. They can breathe into your face and render you unconscious or take away your will.”
“As I know, to my cost,” I said ruefully.
“This is a rare and special type of Kobalos mage—a haizda,” Grimalkin continued. “I met one when I traveled north. I suspect this creature is only young, hardly past its novitiate, the early stage of its training. But never underestimate them. They are very dangerous. The one I met called itself Slither and was a formidable warrior. You would not have slain it so easily. In fact, I doubt you would have survived such an encounter.”
I felt a flicker of annoyance at that.
With one hand, Grimalkin seized the dead Kobalos mage by the left foot, her other holding its head by the hair; she dragged it out of its lair and into the open, and I followed behind.
“This is as good a place as any,” she decided, letting go of the beast about eighty feet away from the tree, clear of most of the roots.
“You dig the grave and I’ll start my search,” she said. “Drag the beast into the pit, but don’t cover it with soil yet.”
“Are you looking for anything special?”
“I’m seeking to learn all I can about our enemies.”
12
Nicholas Browne’s Glossary
WHEN I’d dug the grave and dragged the mage into it, I leaned my spade against the tree trunk and went inside. Grimalkin had pried the lid from one of the jars and was sniffing the contents. It contained a light green slime flecked with small gray particles.
“Find anything interesting?” I asked.
“There is much here that is outside my knowledge. For example, I suspect that this green gel is some kind of preservative. Within it are small pieces of living tissue, but from a creature I have never encountered. What its purpose is, I have no idea. . . . I’d planned to travel north again tomorrow, but this is a treasure trove. I will stay here until I have learned all I can—days, or even weeks, if necessary.”
I nodded. “After I’ve filled in the grave, I’ll get back to the house and leave you to it. If you ever want to eat a meal at my table, you’re more than welcome. In any case, please call in before you go. I’d like to know something of what you learn.”
“Leave the grave to me,” answered Grimalkin. “I want a closer look at the body before it’s buried. As for what I discover, I will tell you all you need to know. You may be reluctant to combine forces to meet an anticipated Kobalos attack, but by presenting this to me you have advanced our cause significantly.”
“Who are your allies?” I asked.
“Witches from Pendle will eventually join with me to face the threat that I have scryed. The people far to the north across the sea have faced the Kobalos in battle before; they will be our allies. We have now reached a crisis. The birth of the Kobalos god, Talkus, has already taken place, increasing the power of their mages threefold and triggering war. Soon they will burst out of their city, Valkarky, and make war on all humans, starting with those who border the Kobalos lands.”
“Do you think this mage was a spy?” I asked, nodding down at the body.
“It is more than likely,” Grimalkin said. “The haizda mages usually live alone, far from other Kobalos, but I wouldn’t have expected to find one this far south.”
With that, we parted company, and I headed back toward Chipenden. But one of Grimalkin’s remarks had been interesting, to say the least.
“All you need to know . . .”
It implied that she might well withhold other information. Why? Because it was knowledge of dark magic that she would use to add to her own strength? We had been close allies once, but by failing to join her quest to destroy the Kobalos last year, I had created a gulf between us. I
had to remind myself that, after all, she was a witch; in spite of our past, we were not natural allies.
I had another disquieting thought. Grimalkin had visited the Kobalos city, Valkarky, and knew a good deal about the enemy. . . . Had I perhaps withdrawn from the coming confrontation a little too easily? I was the Chipenden Spook, after all.
Would my master have left it all to Grimalkin? I wondered.
Back at the house, I pulled the document written by Nicholas Browne out of the envelope. It was a glossary of Kobalos words that revealed much about their magic and culture.
I skimmed through it with interest. My master had once read a copy of this, but he had dismissed it, thinking it was unlikely to be accurate. He had made a brief reference to it in his Bestiary.
I decided to make another copy. It wasn’t a particularly lengthy document—it would only take a couple of hours. I could then keep one in the library and use the new one for study.
I left spaces in my new version to enable me to insert extra entries as we learned more about the Kobalos, and to add comments to Browne’s entries in case they needed augmenting or refuting.
Once that was done, I read it carefully from beginning to end. I then went straight back to the entry on mages.
Mages: There are many types of human mage; the same is also true of the Kobalos. But for an outsider, they are difficult to describe and categorize. However, the highest rank is nominally that of a high mage. There is also one type, the haizda mage, that does not fit within that hierarchy, for these are outsiders who dwell in their own individual territories far from Valkarky. Their powers are hard to quantify.
It was obvious that Browne had known little about haizda mages. I could only hope that Grimalkin increased our knowledge in case I ever encountered another. It certainly wouldn’t do to face one without the Starblade. And it was scary to think that there were many other types with magical power. The Kobalos were beginning to sound more and more dangerous.