“But it’s dark magic, Alice. If the Spook finds out, he’ll send you away forever or even put you in a pit in his garden. And think of yourself. Of your own soul. If you’re not careful, you could end up belonging to the Fiend!”
But before I could say anything more, the Spook called my name and waved me forward to join him. So I ran to catch up, leaving Alice behind.
We walked on, the path now running very close to the shore of the lake, and the Spook kept eyeing the water warily. No doubt he was thinking of the threat from Morwena or the other water witches. They could attack from the water at any time. But I was relying on Alice or Claw to give us some warning.
Had Morwena been following since we left the mill, keeping her distance and just waiting for an opportunity to attack? Both sides of the lake were thickly forested. She could be moving through the dense tree cover or even swimming below the surface of the still water. The winter sun was bathing the countryside with its pale light and the visibility was good: I didn’t sense danger at all. But once night fell it would be a very different matter.
How wrong could I have been? Danger was all around, for the Spook came to a sudden halt and pointed to a tree on our right, less than fifty paces from the lakeshore. My heart lurched with fear as I saw what was carved into its trunk.
“It looks to be freshly cut,” my master said. “Now we’ve got another enemy to worry about!”
It was the mark of Grimalkin. In the summer she’d been sent by the Malkins to hunt me down and I’d tricked her and barely escaped with my life. But now she was back. Why had she left Pendle?
“Have they sent her after me again?” I asked fearfully. “She’s not another daughter of the Fiend, is she?”
The Spook sighed. “It’s impossible to say, lad, but not to my knowledge. Something’s afoot, though. Last week, when I traveled to Pendle, I kept my distance from the witch-clans, confining my visit to Malkin Tower. But something was brewing. I passed several cottages that had been burned out and there were bodies rotting in Crow Wood—from all three clans: Malkins, Deanes, and Mouldheels. It looked like there’d been some sort of battle. The dark may be at war with itself. But why’s Grimalkin come north? It may not be for you at all, but it does seem something of a coincidence that the two of you should both be here. Anyway, she’s put her warning mark close to the shore so let’s be extra vigilant.”
Late in the afternoon we came within sight of Belle Isle. As we drew nearer, I saw that it was far closer to the lakeshore than I’d expected, its nearest point probably no more than a hundred and fifty yards out.
There were jetties close by from where ferrymen plied their trade, but while they’d have taken us to the far shore of the lake for a pittance, not even a silver coin could hire a boat for the short trip to the island.
When asked why, each man was evasive. “Not a place to be, night or day. Not if you value your sanity,” warned the third ferryman we approached. Then, probably tired of the Spook’s persistence, he pointed toward a dilapidated rowing boat tied up among the reeds. “Woman who owns that boat might just be daft enough to take you.”
“Where will we find her?” asked the Spook.
“Back there about a mile and you’ll be at the door of her cottage,” the man said with an ugly laugh, pointing vaguely north along the bank. “Daft Deana, she’s known as. But Deana Beck is her real name! She’s the best you’ll get for that job!”
“Why’s she daft?” the Spook demanded with a frown. It was clear that he was annoyed by the man’s attitude.
“Because the old girl doesn’t know what’s good for her!” retorted the ferryman. “No family to worry about, has she? And so old she doesn’t care for living that much. Nobody with even half the sense they were born with goes near that hag-ridden isle.”
“There are witches on the island?” asked the Spook.
“They visit from time to time. Lots of witches, if you look close enough, but most sensible folk turn the other way. Pretend it isn’t happening. You go and speak to Daft Deana.”
The ferryman was still laughing as we walked away. Soon we arrived at a small thatched cottage set against a steep, wooded incline. The Spook rapped at the door while Claw padded to the water’s edge and stared out across the lake toward the island. After a few moments there was the sound of bars being drawn back, and the door opened no more than the width of the suspicious eye that regarded us from within.
“Be off with ye!” growled a gruff voice that didn’t sound a bit like that of a woman. “Vagabonds and beggars aren’t wanted here.”
“We aren’t here to beg,” explained the Spook patiently. “My name is John Gregory. I need your help and for that I’m prepared to pay well. You’re highly recommended.”
“Highly recommended, am I? Then let’s see the color of your money. . . .”
The Spook reached into his cloak, pulled a silver coin from his pocket, and held it toward the gap in the doorway. “That in advance and the same again when you’ve done the work.”
“What work? What work? Spit it out! Don’t be wasting my time.”
“We need to get across to Belle Isle. Can you do that? That and get us back safely?”
A gnarled hand emerged slowly into the daylight and the Spook dropped the coin into the palm, which instantly closed tightly. “I can certainly do that,” said the voice, softening a little. “But the trip won’t be without danger. Best come inside and warm your bones.”
The door opened wide and we were confronted by the sight of Deana Beck: She was dressed in leather trousers, a grimy smock, and big hobnailed boots. Her white hair was cropped short, and for a moment she looked like a man. But the eyes, which flickered with intelligence, were soft and female and the lips formed a perfect bow. Her face was lined with age but her body was sturdy and she looked strong and robust, well able to row us out to the island.
The room was empty but for a small table in the corner. The hard stone floor was strewn with rushes and Deana hunkered close to the fire and gestured that we should do the same.
“Comfortable, are ye?” she asked when we’d settled down.
“My old bones prefer a chair,” answered the Spook dryly. “But vagabonds and beggars can’t be choosers.”
She smiled at that and nodded. “Well, I’ve managed all my life without the comfort of a chair,” she said, her voice now much lighter and with a lilt to it. “So tell me now, why do ye want to go out to the island? What brings a spook to Belle Isle? Are you here to deal with the witches?”
“Not directly, unless they get in our way,” admitted the Spook. “Not on this occasion anyway. A colleague of mine has been missing for days, and we’ve good reason to believe he’s somewhere out there on the island.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“We consulted a dowser: Judd Atkins from Cartmel.”
“I met the man once,” Deana said, nodding. “He found a body in the lake not too far from here. Well, if Atkins says he’s out there, then he probably is. But how did he get there? That’s what I want to know.”
The Spook sighed. “He was abducted while trying to deal with a water witch. It could well be that some locals are involved as well—either from Coniston or one of the other villages.”
I watched Deana Beck’s face carefully to see what her reaction would be. Was she mixed up in this? Could we trust her?
“It’s a hard life up here,” she said at last. “And you have to do what you can to survive. Most just turn a blind eye, but there are always some that have dealings with the dark forces that lurk in water. They do what has to be done in order to ensure their own safety and the needs of their families. When the breadwinner dies, his family have a hard time of it. They sometimes starve.”
“And what about you, Deana Beck?” demanded the Spook, staring at her hard. “Have you dealt with the dark?”
Deana shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ll have no truck with witches. None at all. Never had a family of my own and I’ve led a
long and lonely life. I don’t regret it, though, because now I’ve no kin to worry about. Just having to care for yourself makes you less afraid. It makes you stronger. The witches don’t scare me. I do what I want.”
“So when can you row us out there?” asked the Spook.
“As soon as darkness falls. We wouldn’t want to be going there in daylight. Anybody might be watching—maybe those who put your friend on the island in the first place, and we wouldn’t want to meet them.”
“That we wouldn’t,” said the Spook.
Deana offered to share her supper but the Spook declined for all of us. I was forced to watch her tuck into a piping hot rabbit stew while my mouth watered and my stomach rumbled. Soon it would be dark and we’d face whatever was out there on the island.
CHAPTER XXIV
The Folly
WEARING long waders that reached up to her thighs, Deana Beck led us along the lakeshore, a lantern in each hand. The moon wasn’t yet up and there was scant light from the stars, but she didn’t light the lanterns. The dark would help to shield us from anyone who might be lying in wait ahead or watching from the island. I walked beside the Spook, carrying my staff and his bag; Alice was a few paces behind. Claw continued to trot around us, her black coat now making her almost invisible. When she came close, only the light padding of her feet gave away her position.
After a few moments we reached Deana’s boat; she waded out and pulled it back from the reeds toward the landing stage. Claw leaped in first, causing it to rock slightly, but then Deana gripped the edge of the jetty to steady it while we climbed aboard, the Spook first, Alice last. Ahead, our destination looked dark and threatening, its shroud of trees like the humped back of a huge crouching monster awaiting the arrival of its prey.
Deana rowed toward the island with big slow sweeps of the oars, which made hardly a sound as they entered the water. The air was still and soon the moon began to rise, illuminating the distant mountains and lighting the lake to silver. But still the trees looked dark and ominous. The sight of Belle Isle disturbed me, sending a chill down the back of my neck.
The crossing took just a few minutes and soon, after beaching the rowing boat on the shingle, we disembarked and stood on the water margin, where a number of twisted, ancient yews blocked out the moonlight.
“Thanks for your help, Deana,” the Spook told the old ferrywoman, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “If we’re not back within the hour, you get yourself home and come back for us just before dawn.”
Deana nodded and picked up one of the lanterns and gave it to the Spook. As I was already burdened with my staff and the Spook’s bag, she handed the other one to Alice. Claw immediately raced ahead and was quickly lost from sight in the darkness. Leaving Deana with her boat, we followed the dog into the gloomy trees. From shore to shore, the island was no more than three hundred yards across at its widest point and three quarters of a mile long. In daylight we could have searched it thoroughly from one end to the other, but in the dark this was impossible, so we made directly for the folly, where the hermit thought we might find Bill Arkwright.
The island was densely wooded; the majority of trees were conifers, but we soon reached a stand of deciduous trees, their branches stark and leafless, and there, in their midst, was the folly.
It wasn’t at all what I’d been led to expect. In the moonlight I could see two separate buildings rather than one, perhaps no more than fifteen strides apart: twin ugly, squat, square towers constructed from gray stone encrusted with lichen, each no more than twenty feet high. They reminded me of sepulchres—mausoleums to house the bones of the dead. Each had a flat roof with no castellation at all, but there were some decorative features. Whereas the lower walls were plain blocks of stone, from about twelve feet above the ground to the roof of each tower I saw a multitude of gargoyles: skulls, bats, birds, and all manner of creatures that might have been copied from the pages of some demonic bestiary.
The first building had no door and just one high narrow slit in each wall to serve as a window. So how could you get inside? And if you couldn’t, what was the point of it? It wasn’t even pleasing to look at. Arkwright couldn’t be inside that sealed tower, yet Claw was already circling it, sniffing and whining, and when we moved on to the next, she remained behind.
I then realized that to call them “twin” buildings wasn’t strictly accurate. Although the second structure had identical slits for windows and its own selection of gargoyles, it also had a stout wooden door. This was padlocked, but since Andrew, the Spook’s locksmith brother, had provided us both with keys easily able to cope with such a barrier, the Spook had it open within seconds. We lit both lanterns before stepping cautiously inside, the blades on our staffs at the ready. Descending along three walls, thirty or so stone steps led us below ground toward a pool of water.
At the bottom the Spook walked away from the water toward the far corner. I reached his side and stared down at what he’d found. It was a boot.
“Is it Bill’s?” he asked.
“It’s his,” I said with a nod.
“So where is he now?” asked the Spook, thinking aloud rather than asking me. He turned back toward the water, walked to its edge, held his lantern high and peered down.
I followed his gaze. The water was surprisingly clear but deep, and I could see two things: a further steep and narrow flight of underwater steps, and at the foot of them what looked like the mouth of a dark tunnel.
“What have we here?” muttered the Spook. “Well, lad, look at the direction of that tunnel. Where do you think it goes?”
There wasn’t much doubt about it. “Toward the other building,” I answered.
“That it does. And I wonder what it contains? What better prison than a building without a door! Follow me, lad. . . .”
I did as he said, with Alice close at my heels. Once outside my master crossed to the other tower, halted below the nearest window and pointed up at it. “Stand on my shoulders and see if you can climb up and see inside. Use the lantern but try and shield it with your body so we don’t attract any unwelcome attention. We wouldn’t want anyone to see it from the mainland.”
He crouched below the window and I stepped up onto his shoulders, holding the lantern between my body and the wall while resting my right hand against the stones to steady myself. As the Spook straightened his body, I struggled to keep my balance, but I was then able to climb to the window using the gargoyles as hand- and footholds. Holding the lantern made it more difficult but at last I was in position facing the window. I leaned forward against the wall and rested my chin on the lantern, peering through the slit. All I could see inside was a pool of water, seemingly identical to the one in the other tower; the far wall had a wide crack below ground level. The foundations were probably damp and had moved.
I clambered down and we moved to the next wall. “Not sure my poor old back and knees can take much more of this,” grumbled the Spook. “Make it quick, lad!”
I did as he commanded but it was not until I peered through the fourth window slit that I saw someone bound with rope, slumped against the far wall close to the pool. I couldn’t see his face but it certainly looked like Arkwright.
“There’s someone tied up,” I whispered excitedly. “I’m sure it’s him.”
“Right, lad,” said the Spook. “Now check the roof. There could be a way in from the top. It’s worth a try. . . .”
I climbed another few feet, then reached up, got a grip on the edge of the roof, and pulled myself up. A thorough check revealed that it was solid stone. There was no way in. So after a quick glance through the trees toward the silver water of the lake, I lowered myself back over the edge and, with the Spook’s help, soon reached the ground.
We trudged back to the other building, descended the steps again and stared gloomily at the surface of the pool. There was only one way to get Arkwright out and that was through the water tunnel.
“Mr. Arkwright taught me to swim,” I told my master,
trying to fill my voice with more confidence than I felt. “Now’s the time to put it to good use. . . .”
“Well, if you can swim, lad, that’s more than I can do. But how well can you swim?”
“About five widths of the canal . . .”
The Spook shook his head doubtfully.
“Too dangerous, Tom,” Alice said. “This is more than just swimming. It’s diving and going through that dark tunnel. Ain’t able to swim or I’d come with you. Two of us would have a better chance.”
“The girl’s right, lad. Maybe Deana could do it or knows someone who can swim well enough to get through there.”
“But would we be able to trust them?” I asked. “No. I can do it. I’ve got to try at least.”
The Spook didn’t try to stop me but looked on silently, shaking his head as I took off my boots and socks, followed by my cloak and shirt. Finally I tied my silver chain about my waist again and prepared to wade into the water.
“Here,” my master said, handing me a knife from his bag. “Tuck this into your belt. You’ll need it to free Bill. And take this for him as well,” he said, handing me a water bottle.
“Got something else that might help . . . ,” Alice said.
With these words she pulled a leather pouch from the pocket of her skirt and undid the fine cord that bound it to reveal a collection of dried herbs within. She’d used herbs before to treat the sick successfully, once helping to heal my hand when it had been burned. But never had I seen such a multitude and diversity of herbs. It seemed that, unbeknown to me, Alice had been gathering materials and developing her healing skills.
She held a leaf out toward me. “Put a bit of this under his tongue. Should revive him—that’s if he ain’t too far gone.”
The Spook stared at her hard for a moment, then nodded, so I tucked it into my breeches pocket and fastened the knife and the water bottle to my belt.
“And take care, lad,” my master warned. “This is dangerous. Any doubts, don’t go through with it. Nobody will think any less of you.”