Spook's Secret (wc-3) (28 page)

    After a while I stopped my frantic struggle to be free. I lay back and closed my eyes and tried to gather my strength for one final effort. It was then, as I lay perfectly still, my breathing almost back to normal, I suddenly thought of the pentacle candles. I could use the flame from one of them to burn through the rope that bound me! Why hadn't I thought of that before? I sat up quickly. I now had a real chance of getting myself free. But it was at that moment that I heard a noise from the direction of the blocked tunnel.

    What could it be? Had the Spook found out after all and come to rescue me? But it didn't sound like a spade. It was more like a scratching noise, as if something were scrabbling in the fallen soil. Could it be a rat? The noise was getting louder. Could it be more than one? A pack of rats that lived deep under the barrow? It was said that rats would eat anything. There were even tales of rats snatching new-born babies from their cots. What if they'd smelled human flesh? Would they want to eat the pieces of Morgan's dead body? What next? Would they turn on me? Attack me while I was still alive?

    The noise became louder. Something was burrowing along the blocked tunnel towards the chamber. Something was clawing its way through the earth. What could it be? I watched, fascinated but terrified, as a small hole appeared about halfway between the ceiling and the floor of the chamber and soil crumbled from it, falling onto the edge of the mosaic floor. I felt a draught that caused the candles to flicker. Two hands emerged but they weren't human. I saw elongated fingers and, instead of fingernails, ten curved talons that had burrowed through the soil into the chamber. So even before the head appeared, I knew exactly who it was.

    Somehow the feral lamia had escaped from the Spook's cellar and had sniffed me out. Marcia Skelton had come for my blood.

The Trap

    
T
he feral lamia eased her body out of the hole and scuttled down onto the mosaic floor. I heard her sniff twice but she wasn't looking at me. Scurrying on all fours with her head down and her long greasy black hair trailing on the floor, she moved towards the edge of the pentacle, her claws making a sharp scratching noise on the marble. She halted and I heard her sniff again loudly as she looked towards what was left of Morgan.

    I kept very still, hardly able to believe that she hadn't attacked me already. Morgan had only just died but I'd have thought she'd prefer fresh blood from a living person. And then I heard another noise from the tunnel. Something else was approaching ...

    Once more a pair of hands appeared but these had human fingers with fingernails rather than sharp claws. As the head came into view, one glance told me who it was. I saw the high cheekbones, the pretty bright eyes and the silver-grey hair. It was Meg.

    She clambered out, dusted herself off and walked straight towards me. She must have left her pointy shoes outside but the pad of her bare feet as she approached was terrifying. No wonder the feral lamia had kept her distance. Meg wanted me all to herself, and after all that had happened, I could expect no mercy.

    She knelt down within touching distance and her lips widened in a grim smile. 'You're just a heartbeat away from death,' Meg said, leaning closer and opening her mouth wide until I could see her white teeth, eager to bite me. I felt her breath on my face and neck and began to tremble. But then she bent low and, to my astonishment, bit right through the rope that was binding my hands.

    'Few humans have been
this
close to a lamia witch and lived,' she said, before rising to her feet. 'Count yourself lucky!'

    I just sat there, staring up at her open-mouthed. I felt too weak to move.

    'Get up, boy!' she commanded. 'We haven't got all night. John Gregory's waiting for you. He'll want to know what's been going on down here.'

    I clambered to my feet unsteadily and stood there for a few moments, feeling weak and nauseous, fearing that I was about to fall. Why should she help me? What had happened between the Spook and Meg? He'd been taking food down to her. They'd been having long talks. Was she doing it because the Spook had asked her to? Were they friends again?

    'Go and get the grimoire,' Meg said, pointing towards the pentacle. T can't enter that circle and neither can Marcia ...'

    I took a step towards the pentacle but stopped when I saw the book. It was lying in a pool of blood. I couldn't bear to touch it and it would be ruined anyway. Then I caught a glimpse of Morgan's remains and my stomach heaved. I bowed my head, trying to blot the image out of my mind. I didn't want to see him again in a nightmare.

    'Do as I say, get the grimoire!' Meg commanded, raising her voice slightly. 'John Gregory won't thank you for leaving it here for someone else to find one day'

    I did as I was told and stepped into the pentacle. I reached down and picked up the book. It was wet and sticky with blood. I could smell it and my stomach twisted and heaved again. I fought hard not to vomit and left the pentacle, picking up the nearest of the candles. I didn't like the idea of climbing back through a dark tunnel in the company of two lamia witches.

    Taking the candle had probably broken the power of the pentacle and I thought that Marcia would have entered it to feed. But after briefly sniffing towards the body she turned away. Meg led the way with Marcia somewhere behind me. I just hoped she wasn't too close on my heels.

    We emerged into the pale pre-dawn light. The blizzard had blown itself out but it was still snowing lightly. The Spook was waiting just outside the entrance and he reached down, offering me his hand. I let the black candle fall into the snow and gripped his left hand with mine; he pulled me up onto my feet. Immediately afterwards the feral lamia followed me out, scrambling up onto the snow.

    I opened my mouth to speak but my master put a finger against his lips to signal silence. 'All in good time. You can tell me later,' he said. 'Is Morgan dead?'

    I nodded and bowed my head.

    'Well, this can be his tomb,' said the Spook.

    With those words he moved across and gripped the edge of the stone, manoeuvring it into position. He balanced it on the edge of the hole, and when he was satisfied, let it drop back into place. That done, he went down onto his knees and, using his bare hands, began to cover the stone with loose earth and snow. At last, satisfied, he came to his feet.

    'Give me the book, lad,' the Spook commanded.

    I held it out to him, glad to be rid of it. The Spook lifted it up and glanced at the cover. When he transferred it to his other hand, bloodstains remained on his fingers. With a sad, weary shake of his head he led the way down off the heights of the moor and back towards his winter house. And each time I glanced back over my shoulder I could see that the two lamia witches were following close behind.

    Once back, the Spook led me into the kitchen, fed the fire with coal and, as the flames took a hold, started to cook breakfast. At one point I offered to help but he waved me back into my chair.

    'Gather your strength, lad,' he told me. 'You've been through a lot.'

    Once I could smell the eggs cooking and the bread toasting I felt a lot better. Meg and her sister had gone down into the cellar but I didn't like to mention them. It was best to let the Spook tell me what had happened in his own time. Soon we were both at the table tucking into big plates of eggs and toast. At last, feeling a lot better, I mopped my plate and sat back in my chair.

    'Well, lad, do you feel well enough to talk? Or shall we leave it until later?'

    'I'd like to get it over with,' I replied. I knew that once I'd told him all that had happened, I'd feel a lot better. It would be the first step in putting it all behind me.

    'Then start right at the beginning and leave nothing out!' said the Spook.

    So I did exactly as he instructed, starting with my talk with Alice on the hillside, when she'd told me where to find Morgan, and finishing with the climax of the ritual - the arrival of Golgoth and how he'd threatened me after Morgan had died.

    'So Morgan must have made a mistake,' I said. 'Golgoth arrived inside the pentacle-'

    'Nay, lad,' said the Spook, shaking his head sadly, 'he must have recited the ritual word for word. You see, I'm to blame. I have Morgan's blood on my hands.'

    'I don't understand. What do you mean?' I asked.

    'I should have sorted him out then, after he tried to summon Golgoth all those years ago,' the Spook said.

    'Morgan was very dangerous and beyond help even then. I knew that and should have put him in a pit, but his mother, Emily, begged and pleaded with me not to do it. He wanted power and was bitter and twisted with anger but she believed that was because life had treated him unfairly and he lacked a father to stand by him. I felt a bit sorry for the lad and cared for his mother so I let my heart rule my head. But deep down I knew that it wasn't a father he lacked. Mr Hurst and I had both tried to be that to him. No, what he really lacked was the discipline to be a spook, the courage and perseverance to dedicate his life to a craft that carries little in the way of worldly rewards. But instead of punishing him for trying to summon Golgoth, I simply terminated his apprenticeship and made him swear to me and his mother that he wouldn't pursue Golgoth or the grimoire.

    'Cast out with no trade, Morgan sought power and wealth through necromancy and turned to the dark. I knew that each winter the temptation of Golgoth's power would grow, eventually becoming too much for him. So I set a trap for him, but only if he actually tried to summon the Lord of Winter would that trap be sprung-'

    'Trap? What trap? I don't understand.'

    'He was always lazy when it came to his studies,' said the Spook, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. 'Language was his weak point and he never learned his Latin vocabulary thoroughly. He was even worse at some of the other languages. He started to learn the Old Tongue in his third year. It was the language spoken by the first men who came to the County, the ones who built the Round Loaf and worshipped Golgoth. The ones who wrote the grimoire. He didn't get very far. He knew how to pronounce it, how to read the Old Tongue aloud, but there were serious holes in his knowledge.

    'You see, lad, I couldn't take any chances. Our first duty is always to the County. So years ago I had the grimoire copied. The original text was destroyed and the new version bound within the original cover. Several words were changed in the book to make the rituals useless. But only one change was made to the Golgoth ritual. The word
wioutan,
which means 'without' or 'outside', was replaced by
wioinnan,
which means 'within' ...'

    'So that's why Golgoth appeared with him inside the pentacle,' I said, astonished at the Spook's trap. He'd kept that secret for years.

    'I didn't trust Morgan so I set a snare for him just in case. I went to a lot of trouble having the grimoire copied and changed, but as I said, our duty is to protect the County. Emily knew what I'd done but she had a lot more faith in him than I did. She thought he'd changed his ways and would never try to raise Golgoth again. He swore that to her, and I was there to witness that oath. I never made any bones about where the grimoire was. That desk was always on view and Morgan knew where to come, and eventually I was proved right. He would have come for it years ago but the oath to his mother held him fast. As soon as I heard that she'd died, I feared the worst and realized why Morgan had contacted me back in Chipenden ...'

    There was a long silence and the Spook scratched at his beard again, very deep in thought.

    'What happened at the end?' I asked. 'Why didn't Golgoth kill me? Why did he just go away?'

    'After being summoned, his time within the pentacle was limited. Every moment he remained there he'd have been growing weaker. At last he had to go. He had no choice. Of course, had you let him out, things would have been different. He'd have been free to roam the County, which would have been gripped by an endless winter. So you did well, lad. You did your duty and nobody can ask more than that.'

    'How did you find me?' I asked.

    'For that, your first thanks must be to the girl. When you didn't come back as I expected, I went down to speak to Andrew and find out what time you'd left the shop. It was your friend Alice who told me where you'd gone. She wanted to come and help search for you but I'd have none of it. I work better alone -
1
don't need a girl trailing at my heels. We almost had to tie her to the chair to stop her from following me. When I arrived, a blizzard was blowing in from the north-east and the chapel was deserted. I poked around the graveyard for a bit but I didn't stay long. There was only one person I could turn to then. The only one who could find you in those conditions.

    'Meg soon sniffed you out. She found your staff in the copse up on the hill and traced you to the barrow. Didn't take her long to find the entrance, but when I pulled back the stone, the tunnel was blocked. So it was Marcia who dug you out. That's three who deserve your thanks.'

    'Three witches,' I pointed out.

    The Spook ignored me. 'Anyway, Alice will stay back at Andrew's place, as you'd expect. As for Meg and her sister, from now on they'll be down the cellar steps behind the gate - but it won't be locked.'

    'So you and Meg are friends again?'

    'No, things aren't the way they were when we first met. I'd like to put the clock back but it just isn't possible. You see, lad, we've come to an agreement.

    Things can't carry on as they are, but I'll tell you more about it when you've rested.'

    'What about Dad?' I asked. 'Will he be all right now?'

    'He was a good man and now that Morgan's dead and his power broken, your dad should have nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Nobody knows exactly what happens after we die,' the Spook said with a sigh. 'If we did, there wouldn't be so many different religions all saying different things and all thinking they're right. To my mind it doesn't matter which one of them you follow. Or even if you walk alone and take your own path through life. As long as you live your life right and respect others' beliefs as your dad taught you, then you won't go far wrong. He'll find his way through to the light, all right. There's no need to worry about that. And thaf s enough talking for now. You've had a long difficult night so get yourself off to bed for a few hours.'