Spook's: The Dark Army (The Starblade Chronicles) (24 page)

It was good for Jenny to get back to her training but there wasn’t much time for digging boggart pits in the garden or casting a silver chain at the practice post. Even theory lessons were few and far between.

This was because we had to deal with the backlog of work that had built up in our absence. Not a day went by without the bell ringing at the withy trees crossroads. Jenny was certainly getting plenty of experience of spook’s work.

And all the time the threat was approaching like the dark clouds of a winter storm.

I would have liked to visit the farm where I used to live and see my two brothers, Jack’s wife, Ellie, and their children. But I was too busy for that. My duty was firstly to protect people from the dark so family concerns had to come second to that. However, I did send a letter to Judd at the mill north of Caster. I thanked him for keeping an eye on Chipenden and dealing with some of the spook’s business while I was away. I also brought him up to date on the Kobalos.

My days were busy, and I had little time to ponder on the threat that lay ahead, but at night I found it difficult to sleep. I twisted and turned through the hours of darkness, trying to work out when and how the enemy would strike.

The only ray of light in all this was Alice. It was so good to have her back living in the Chipenden house. Just to see and speak to her brightened my day. I’d managed to put my doubts about her behind me. What had happened in the past was over. It was no use dwelling on it. We were happy together and I had to look to the future.

There was still no word from Grimalkin. I’d hoped she would contact Alice, but no doubt she was in mortal danger, trying to hold back the enemy. For all I knew she might already be dead, slain as the mighty Kobalos army swept southwards.

Then, one morning, a boy came with an urgent message from the small village of Wood Plumpton. Such messengers usually hated ringing the bell and meeting a spook in the gloom beneath the withy trees. Sometimes they could barely speak; sometimes they gabbled out their message so rapidly that I didn’t understand a single word and had to ask them to repeat it.

When Jenny and I appeared at the crossroads, this frecklefaced boy didn’t even say hello or give his name. He just held out an envelope to me. ‘This is from my mam!’ he declared.

It was addressed to
Thomas J. Ward, the Chipenden Spook
. I tore open the envelope and read the message within:

Dear Mr Ward
,

I am being held on suspicion of murdering my husband. He is stone dead and I am not sorry because he was a bully and made my whole life a misery. However, I did not kill him – he was slain in a manner that speaks of dark magic. Hence I am also being accused of witchcraft. Please come to Wood Plumpton as soon as you can as they intend to burn me. You will see that I am not a witch, and your opinion as a spook trained by John Gregory will get the charge dropped. Your master was held in great esteem here.

Yours sincerely,

Annabelle Grayson

‘Wait here, lad,’ I told the boy. ‘We need to go back to the house to collect a few things, but we’ll set off within the hour to help your mam.’

I had often accompanied my master when he dealt with similar situations. He’d even named such people as a fourth category of witch: the ‘falsely accused’. I hope I’d learned enough to sort this out. I had to think about training Jenny to cope with such circumstances.

As Jenny and I went back to the house, I handed her the letter and she began to read it.

I heard harsh cries from above and saw a flock of geese flying overhead. They were heading west, towards the sea marshes. They had migrated here from the north and would stay in the County until spring. They had arrived a month early. It was another sign that winter was approaching rapidly.

When it came, the dark cold months would be filled with a special danger – the threat from Golgoth. If the Kobalos prevailed, this coming winter might never end and there would be famine and death.

‘Will you be able to tell whether she’s a witch or not?’ Jenny asked as she handed the letter back.

‘I get a cold feeling when I’m near something from the dark. You get it too, don’t you?’ I asked.

Jenny nodded doubtfully, as if afraid to admit that she didn’t. It wasn’t a problem. I knew that her gifts were different than mine.

‘Well, that’s one way of seeing whether she’s a witch,’ I continued. ‘But it isn’t foolproof. I’ve been close to witches and not felt that warning cold at all. So we’ll question her as well and try to get at the truth.’

I always tried to keep an open mind. It was likely that she was indeed falsely accused – though it was also possible that she really was a witch and had written that letter hoping to deceive me and save her skin.

‘Do you get that cold feeling when you’re close to Alice?’ Jenny asked.

Her question took me by surprise. ‘No, I don’t,’ I admitted. ‘That might be because I knew her before she became a witch. It might also be something to do with the fact that she’s an earth witch.’

‘An earth witch? You’ve never mentioned that before. You’re supposed to be teaching me all about things like that.’

‘I can’t teach you about earth witches because it’s all new to me. My own master never taught me about them; as far as I know, until Alice became one they simply didn’t exist. All I know is that she uses the powers of the Earth and works with Pan. It’s not like having a familiar or using blood or bone magic.’

‘I don’t get any bad feelings from her either,’ said Jenny. ‘Maybe she’s strong enough to shield herself?’

It seemed that Jenny was trying to undermine Alice, so I didn’t bother to reply.

I collected my staff and bag and some provisions for the journey. There was a note on the kitchen table from Alice. The message was brief.

Take care, Tom.

Contacted Grimalkin in the mirror: she’s all right so far, but half the army are dead or wounded. They’re about to fight a big battle that they can’t afford to lose. She needs magical allies and wants me to talk to the witches so I’m off to Pendle. Be back in a couple of days.

Miss you.

Alice

I folded the note into my pocket. Now I had something else to worry about. Pendle was a dangerous place. The three main witch clans often clashed, and the witches might not take kindly to Grimalkin’s request for help or to Alice’s presence. They both had friends there, but enemies too. I consoled myself with the thought that Alice had powerful magic at her disposal and was well able to look after herself.

I led Jenny back to the crossroads, where the boy was waiting.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked him.

‘Josh,’ he replied.

‘Well, Josh, I hope you can walk fast. We need to get back to where you live as quickly as we can. I’m sorry about your dad, but if we walk fast, we can help your mam. Understand?’

He nodded and we set off towards Wood Plumpton. It was a small village just north of Priestown, hardly more than a hamlet, and I’d been there with my master a couple of times. I set a brisk pace: we had to get there before they burned the lad’s mam.

We arrived in the late afternoon and Josh led us through the graveyard towards the house of the parish constable, the official who’d arrested the boy’s mother.

The church was St Anne’s, and John Gregory had once been summoned here to make a decision. I pointed out a boulder beyond the rows of graves.

‘See that?’ I asked Jenny.

‘It’s over a grave!’ she cried out in astonishment.

‘It’s a witch’s grave,’ I explained. ‘She’s buried head down so that if she tries to scratch her way to the surface she’ll really be digging her way towards the centre of the Earth. The boulder is there just in case she turns round. Back in Chipenden we use bars for the same purpose, but a stone is cheaper. I came here with John Gregory to inspect that grave. They wanted to know if the witch was safely contained. My master assured the locals that it was. She’s a very weak dead witch. There’s no further threat at all.’

‘How many dead witches are strong and dangerous?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps one in twenty . . . Most of the dead witches in Pendle are to be found in Witch Dell. They just crawl around in the dark, eating slugs, worms, and occasionally mice or rats. There are usually only a couple of really strong dead witches there, but they make that dell a very dangerous place. They can run faster than a human being, and when they catch someone, they drain the victim before ripping them to pieces.’

Jenny shuddered.

‘That’s why the Chipenden spooks have always brought the more powerful dead witches back to the garden and used bars to keep them secure.’

Soon I was knocking at the door of the constable’s house.

I expected some smug, pompous oaf – in my experience, the job attracted bigots and bullies – but the man who greeted me with a friendly smile was cut from a different cloth.

‘Mr Ward? I’m Constable Baxton. Mrs Grayson is in a cell but before you speak to her I’d like you to see her husband’s body.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said, but as he turned to lead us round the side of the house, he gave a frown.

‘Just you, Mr Ward. I’m sorry, but I don’t think the boy or the girl should see this . . .’

‘I agree about young Josh, Constable, but Jenny is my apprentice and needs to see it. Ours is a difficult trade and we see some terrible sights. Part of her training is to get used to them.’

He nodded grimly. ‘On your own head be it, but I must warn you that this is just about one of the worst things I’ve ever witnessed.’

Josh stayed behind, and Jenny and I followed the constable to a large shed behind the house. He lit a lantern, opened the door and led us into the gloom. The moment we entered I was hit by the stench of death and the buzzing of flies.

On the floor was a big hessian sack, tied at the neck with string. It was crawling with big fat bluebottles. Blood had seeped out to form a dry red puddle on the floor.

‘There it is,’ said the constable. ‘Go and take a look. I put the body in the sack and got my fill of it, so I don’t need a second look. After you’ve examined the contents, it’ll be the turn of the undertaker – he’s due in about an hour.’

He handed me the lantern and I passed it to my apprentice. I walked forward with Jenny and untied the string, sending the bluebottles up into a buzzing cloud that hovered over the sack. The smell was appalling and my stomach started to heave.

‘Hold the lantern high, Jenny,’ I said, peering into the open sack.

Moments later, I was forced to turn away to be sick. The sack was brim full of fragments of flesh and bone – some no bigger than a fingernail.

JENNY WAS SICK
too, so I took the lantern from her and told her to go outside. Once I’d managed to control my stomach, I looked once more at the remains, then retied the string.

I went to speak with the constable. ‘You were right – that was just as bad as it gets, but we both had to look. Now, could you show me where he died?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘It was over by the pond.’

We followed him through the garden.

‘It was dark magic, wasn’t it?’ asked the constable. ‘Last night it was a new moon. That’s the time when magic’s at its most powerful, isn’t it? What else could have done that to a man? Nothing natural could have chopped him up into such small pieces. And those slivers of bone – how could anyone have done that? He was only missing for a few hours.’

I didn’t reply, for I saw that we were approaching a small pond. The grass all around it was black and dead, as were the reeds on the near bank. Everything looked scorched, and there were dead fish floating belly-up on the surface of the pond.

‘Is this the spot?’ I asked.

He pointed down at an area close to the water. The dead grass was covered in slime – and some pieces of bone no bigger than fingernail clippings.

Jenny gazed down, her eyes wide; she looked scared.

‘What was Mr Grayson doing here?’ I asked.

‘He’d had a blazing row with his wife. They fought like cat and dog, morning, noon and night. Sometimes he came here afterwards to cool off. I suppose the witch had finally had enough of him – probably been storing up her magic for years to do this. I’ve always found her pleasant enough, but her anger got the better of her and she blasted him to pieces!’

I shook my head. ‘Annabelle Grayson is almost certainly
not
a witch,’ I told him. ‘She didn’t do this. I’ll talk to her later, just to be sure, but I believe something else killed her husband; something really powerful from the dark. It’s nothing to worry about now. Everyone here is safe – it won’t come back,’ I lied.

‘What was it, a fire daemon?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘Yes, something like that, but they’re very rare. Mr Grayson was unlucky. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ I said, lying again.

Jenny caught my eye and I could see her puzzlement. She was about to speak, but I gave her a quick frown and her mouth became a hard thin line. I didn’t think there was any point in alarming the constable with the truth: that it was something far worse than a daemon and could come back at any time.