She must have planned this all along, I realized. She’d never intended to make her escape. Never for a moment had the shaman suspected that she’d attack rather than retreat. And she’d used the ghost of Bill Arkwright to achieve her aim. That meant his spirit must be in her power. After all, she was a powerful bone witch, and necromancy—control of the dead—was among her dark weapons.
While she crouched down to take the shaman’s bones, Lizzie was a perfect target for my silver chain. But when I reached for it, I could get my fingertips nowhere near my pocket. I tried with all my strength, and although my hand strained and trembled, I could not reach the chain. Lizzie was still exerting some special power over me.
She looked up at me and Alice, clutching the bloody bones, an ecstatic expression on her face. “Feel good, these do!” she cried, stuffing them into her pocket along with the knife and rising to her feet. “There’s power here, all right! Now let’s take a little walk upstairs and see what’s what! But first we’ll get the dogs back into their cages.”
She clapped her hands three times, just as the shaman had done, and Claw, Blood, and Bone emerged from the shadows and trotted back to their cages obediently. “Right, boy, fasten them in!”
It was clear that the witch could control the dogs now, but did she have all the shaman’s powers? With his death, had they passed to her? As if in a dream, unable to resist, I went over and closed the cage doors, snapping the clasps across. As I attended to Claw’s cage, she gave a little whine and tried to lick me through the bars. I felt a surge of hope. Had that been Arkwright’s doing? Although forced by Lizzie to make the dogs kill the shaman, his ghost had first pointed to me and said: That boy is your friend, not your enemy!
With those words, had he given the dogs back to me? Had he done his best to help?
Alice and I followed Bony Lizzie along the damp corridors. As we reached the stone steps and started to climb, I felt the pulse of fear radiate from the witch once more. She was using it as a weapon to clear the areas ahead of any opposition to our progress. Three flights up, we emerged in the guard room that I’d crossed on my way down to the cells. Spears, pikes, and clubs stood in racks along the wall and a fire blazed in the grate; half-eaten meals had been abandoned on a long table. The plates were still steaming. The occupants of the room must have fled very recently.
I’d expected Lizzie to lead us out of Greeba Keep and wondered if the inner portcullis would be raised. Even if it was, there was still the one barring the main entrance to contend with. But, to my surprise, Lizzie continued up into the tower. She seemed supremely confident; with the shaman dead, perhaps she was no longer in any danger. As we climbed, she tried every door and peered into the rooms: bedrooms, drawing rooms, and the extensive kitchens—all deserted. Then, at the top, we came to the largest room of all. It was clad in white marble and the walls were hung with tapestries. A long, narrow crimson carpet ran the length of the room, right up to a dais seven steps high; atop it was an ornate throne made of jade.
This must be the throne room where the shaman, Lord Barrule, had held court and meted out his rough justice. It was impressive—fit for a king, never mind a lord. From the doorway, Lizzie gazed at that throne for a long time, then went over to the only window. It had a recessed seat, and she sat and looked out for a while without speaking. Alice and I came up behind her and followed her gaze downward.
Far below, people were still fleeing the keep. The outer portcullis was raised, and beyond the bridge over the moat, groups of yeomen were staring up at the tower. With them was Stanton, their commander, sword at his hip. There was no hope of escaping that way.
Lizzie turned away from the window with a faint smile on her face, then slowly walked the length of the carpet, heading for that green throne. With each step, the heels of her pointy shoes made deep indentations in the crimson carpet and their soles soiled it with mud from the tunnels.
Then, very deliberately, she sat herself down on the throne and beckoned us forward. Alice and I moved closer, until we were standing at the foot of the steps.
“I could rule this island,” Lizzie said. “I could be its queen!”
“A queen? You? You’re no queen,” Alice sneered. “Look like you been dragged through a hedge backward and rolled in a midden!”
It was true. The witch’s clothes were splattered with mud; her hair was caked with it. She scowled and stood up, anger flickering in her eyes. Alice took a step back, but then Lizzie smiled. “We’ll see, girl. We’ll soon see about that.” She pointed to a door behind the throne. “Let’s find out what we’ve got here.”
We followed her through the door and discovered that we weren’t at the highest point in the tower after all. There was yet another flight of steep steps, which led up to a circular antechamber with eight doors. We entered the rooms in turn, moving counterclockwise. Like the throne room, each had a large curtained window with a seat recessed into the outer wall. The first had a tiled floor and a large wooden bath. Lizzie gazed at the bath and smiled. The next five were luxurious bedrooms, hung with ornate mirrors and rich tapestries.
The seventh was the shaman’s study. Three rows of shelves held his books—mostly grimoires—and on a large wooden table, a big notebook lay open next to a human skull. Other shelves contained bottles and jars of potions. In the corner was a large chest, but when Lizzie tried it, she found it was locked.
“I could get it open myself, but that’ll take time and be a waste of power. Why bark yourself when you’ve got a dog to do it for you? Come on, boy, get out that key of yours and open this up.”
How did Lizzie know about my key? I wondered. What else did she know? Could she read all my thoughts?
But the chest had belonged to the shaman—it might well contain things that would increase the witch’s power—so I shook my head.
“Refusing, are you? I’ll show you what happens to those who disobey me.”
Lizzie’s face darkened, and she started to mutter a spell. In an instant the room grew cold, and fear constricted my throat. And there seemed to be things moving in the darkest corners—threatening, shadowy forms. I gripped my staff tightly, my eyes darting this way and that. When I looked directly at the creatures, they disappeared; when I looked away, they grew and moved closer.
“Do what she wants, Tom. Please,” Alice begged.
So I nodded and pulled the key from my pocket.
I’d have to make a stand against Lizzie soon, but I’d do it when she was least expecting it. I just hoped that whatever was in the chest would be of no use to a bone witch.
The special key, crafted by the Spook’s brother Andrew, a master locksmith, didn’t let me down this time. I lifted the lid and saw that the chest contained money: bags of both gold and silver coins.
I thought Lizzie would be disappointed, but she only smiled again. “Useful thing, money,” she said. “Put it to good use, I can. Lock it up again, boy. We don’t want anyone else to get their thieving hands on it.” She looked around the room, her eyes settling on the bottles and jars, then finally on the open notebook. “I’ll be having a good root around in here before long,” she muttered. “See what he’s been up to. Who knows—I might learn something new.”
How long did Bony Lizzie intend to stay? I wondered. Was she serious about ruling the island? If so, how did she plan to do so with her enemies gathered beyond the keep? They’d been badly frightened, but that wouldn’t last forever. Soon they’d come back in force. They’d captured her before; if enough of them could summon up the courage, they could do it again. Then Alice and I would suffer as her accomplices.
The eighth door led to a large dressing room containing clothes—rich, elaborate gowns, suitable attire for a royal court. They must have belonged to Barrule’s wife.
“They look just my size.” Lizzie smirked. “Know what you two are going to do next?”
We didn’t answer.
“Fill my bath!” she cried. “Heat the water in the kitchen and bring it up. Half an
hour and I want it done!”
“Washing behind your ears ain’t going to turn you into a queen!” Alice snapped.
Lizzie hissed furiously, and Alice gave a cry of fear and backed away. I gripped her hand and quickly led her back into the antechamber, then down the steps to the throne room.
“What we going to do, Tom?” she asked.
“Escape and find the Spook,” I told her, “though I don’t know how yet. We can’t go that way.” I pointed at the window. Down below, the courtyard was empty. There seemed to be nobody at all within the walls of Greeba Keep, but there were still plenty of men beyond the open gate. They’d lit fires and were standing or sitting around them.
“I wouldn’t like to risk the tunnels,” Alice said. “I know what Lizzie’s capable of. The buggane’s as good as hers already. She’d send it after us for sure.”
“Then there’s only one thing we can do for now,” I told her. “Get Lizzie’s bath ready.”
Alice nodded. “At least it’ll make her smell better!” she retorted.
So we went down to the kitchen and, after helping ourselves to some cold chicken, prepared Lizzie’s hot water. The cooking fires were still burning and there were barrels of water there. Soon we had water heating in three big cauldrons. That was the easy part; getting it up the stairs and into Lizzie’s bath was backbreaking work.
Down in the throne room again, we sat in the window seat and looked out. Beyond the moat nothing had changed, but spits had been set up above each fire; the yeomen camped around them were preparing to eat. There seemed to be no immediate danger from them.
“Alice, why is Lizzie suddenly so strong?” I wondered. “She stopped me from using my chain against her earlier—I couldn’t even get my hand into my pocket. She seems so confident. Look at the way she’s allowed us to roam free while she bathes, as if she has nothing to fear from us—and she’s right. I can sense her new strength.”
“Some truth in what she said before about her age,” Alice answered. “Pendle witches reckon to come into their full strength when they turn forty. But Lizzie’s always been powerful and dangerous. I know what she’s capable of. Got fresh bones, too—a shaman’s—so that’s bound to help her. Tricked him and beat him good and proper, she did. Rare and hard to get, a shaman’s bones. No knowing how strong that might make her— Look, Tom!” Alice cried, pointing toward the portcullis. “Something’s happening down there. Looks like they’re getting ready to attack.”
But it was only two yeomen crossing the bridge, and they seemed to have a prisoner between them, his hands bound behind his back. Once in the courtyard, they cut the ropes and freed him, then thrust something at him—a staff.
It was the Spook.
CHAPTER XVI
Your Master’s Worst Nightmare
“QUICK, Tom. Go down and warn him!” Alice cried as she saw the Spook walking toward the tower. “What chance has he got against Lizzie now?”
“Come with me,” I said, tugging at her arm.
“No, I’ll stay here and keep her royal highness occupied. I’ll ask her if she wants more hot water. The longer we keep her in that bath, the more chance Old Gregory will have. Don’t you worry, I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t like leaving her with Bony Lizzie, but I had little choice. What Alice said made sense. Maybe she could distract the witch. I knew I had to warn my master. If he came up not realizing how strong Lizzie was now, he could end up either dead or in the dungeons, food for the buggane.
So I left Alice and began to run down the steps as fast as I could. I met the Spook as he was coming through the guard room. We almost collided.
“Steady on, lad!” he cried.
“Lizzie’s really powerful now!” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “She can freeze you with a word. She stopped me from getting my chain out of my pocket!”
The Spook leaned his staff against the guard room table and took a seat. “I thought there must be something different about the witch. There’s a small army out there, and yet they don’t feel able to walk in through the gate and deal with her. They think the shaman’s dead. Is that so?”
I nodded. “Lizzie took his bones.”
“So that’s one less servant of the dark to worry about. Lizzie’s got the yeomen scared, all right—they’ve resorted to sending me in to deal with her. A spook, and a foreigner to boot. These people have always been fiercely independent, so they must be desperate.”
“She’s talking about becoming Queen of Mona,” I told my master.
He raised his eyebrows at that. “So tell me all about it. Take your time and leave nothing out—”
“But she’s having a bath right at this moment. This could be your best chance!”
“Bony Lizzie having a bath? Now I’ve heard it all!” said the Spook, giving me a rare smile. “But I won’t take another step until I know what’s what. Sooner you start, lad, the sooner you’ll finish!”
So I did as he asked. I told him about Alice and Lizzie’s lips being stitched and the buggane’s tunnels leading into each cell. Then about the fight and our escape, and then how she’d crooned to the buggane; finally about facing the dogs, the appearance of Bill Arkwright’s ghost, and the shaman’s death.
My master shook his head. “She’s certainly got delusions of grandeur—though she’s dangerous. Poor Bill . . . at least once we’ve sorted Lizzie, he’ll be able to break free.
“But this is as bad as it could be, lad. I’ve been sent in here to sort out that witch, but once it’s done, they won’t need me anymore. There’ll be a new master of Greeba Keep, and things will go on much the same as ever. We might well end up in the dungeons again. They’ll carry on appeasing the buggane even though the shaman’s dead. They’ll be back to their old tricks. It’s the way of the world, I’m afraid. History repeating itself.” My master sighed deeply, lost in thought for a moment.
“I’ve faced similar situations before. I’m getting weary of it all, lad—tired in body, mind, and spirit. Still, we’ll worry about that later. First we must sort out Lizzie,” he finished, getting to his feet.
“What if she’s too strong? What if—?”
“Look, lad, don’t you worry. I’ve faced many a witch before and come out on top. You’re young and still an apprentice. That’s why she was able to control you. Let’s go and get this over with! Lead the way to Lizzie.”
I didn’t like it one bit, but I did as my master ordered. I just hoped that the witch was still in her bath. But as soon as we entered the throne room, I knew I’d been right to be pessimistic.
Bony Lizzie was seated on the throne, and Alice was standing on the steps, looking terrified. Lizzie was dressed in a long purple gown, her hair wet but combed straight so that it framed her face, her lips painted red. She looked imposing—if not quite a queen, then certainly like a woman accustomed to life at court. But what really frightened me was her manner and the expression on her face.
She looked in total control, and I felt waves of cold malice radiating from her. However, the Spook looked resolute, and he began to stride down the carpet toward the throne.
He halted at the foot of the steps. I was close behind him, and I saw him ease his left hand into the pocket of his breeches to curl the silver chain about his wrist. I remembered the last time my master had faced Lizzie, right at the very beginning of my apprenticeship. He’d killed Tusk, her powerful abhuman accomplice, and then bound the witch with his silver chain before carrying her over his shoulder back to a pit at Chipenden. Could he do it again? He certainly thought so. And surely Lizzie must remember what had happened last time?
I soon realized that she wasn’t the least bit concerned. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at the Spook. She was looking at me, her eyes filled with malevolence.
“Can’t be trusted, can you, boy? Soon as my back’s turned you run off to get your master. I should kill you now.”
Wasting no time, the Spook spun the chain, casting it toward Lizzie. She was still on the throne
; it was an easy shot—the witch was as good as bound. I watched the chain shape itself into a gleaming, deadly spiral—but to my dismay it fell harmlessly to the floor a foot to the right of her.
How could he have missed? Powerful dark magic had to be the answer. Or maybe something else . . .
My heart sank right down into my boots. Alice was right to doubt my master’s powers. I was beginning to see the truth. The Spook was a man in decline. His strength was going. The John Gregory I’d first become apprenticed to would have bound Lizzie with no trouble, no matter how strong the magic she used against him.
He frowned, and an expression of bewilderment came over his face. He staggered and seemed about to speak, but then his hand went to his throat and he started to choke. His knees gave way, then he fell forward, his forehead missing the bottom step by inches. I quickly went to kneel beside him. He lay there, face down, barely breathing.
“He’s not dead, don’t you worry!” cried Lizzie, getting to her feet. “Old Gregory isn’t going to enjoy an easy death like that. Not after the painful years I spent trapped in that pit. I owe him for that, and he’ll suffer before he dies. I’ll give him pain like he’s never known before, just see if I don’t! This is going to be your master’s worst nightmare.”
Her words reminded me of my master’s dream about Lizzie, where she’d been seated on a throne, the floor flowing with blood. It was all coming horribly true.
She walked down the steps and raised her foot as if to kick him with the pointy toe of her shoe, then stopped and shook her head. “What’s the point of kicking him if he can’t feel it?” she muttered. “Now, boy, I’ve got a job for you. I want you to go out and talk to those men beyond the gate. Tell ’em they work for me now. They should choose one of their own, a sensible man with experience, to be my seneschal—the servant who will give orders to the others on my behalf. He should come up to the throne room for an audience with me.