The Spook's Battle (12 page)

 Tibb could be anywhere, but I didn't want to meet Mistress Wurmalde either. She lived in the manner of the lady of the house and was, no doubt, used to being waited on hand and foot; she'd rarely visit the kitchen except to give orders, and nobody would be preparing food at this time of night. So without hesitation I opened the kitchen door. From there I'd be able to get out into the yard and make my escape.Immediately I realized my mistake. Lit by a shaft of moonlight from the window, Mistress Wurmalde was standing by the table between me and the door. It was as if she'd been waiting for me and knew which route I'd take to make my escape. Had that knowledge been given to her by Tibb? I avoided her gaze, and my eyes swept the room: It was gloomy and there were lots of dark corners. There was no sign of Tibb, but he was small. He could be hiding anywhere in the shadows--perhaps under the table or in a cupboard. Maybe he was still sheltering under her skirts?"If you'd eaten your supper, you wouldn't be hungry now," she said, her voice as cold and threatening as a sharp steel blade.I looked at her but didn't reply. I was tensed, ready to run for it. But for all I knew, Tibb was somewhere behind me."That is why you're here now in my kitchen in the dead of night, isn't it? Or were you thinking of leaving without even a word of thanks for the hospitality you've received?"

 Her voice had changed slightly. Meeting her in Father Stocks's presence, I hadn't noticed it, but now I detected a hint of a foreign accent. With a shock I realized that it was similar to that in Mam's voice."If I'd eaten my supper, I'd be in the same condition as Father Stocks," I told her bluntly. "That's the sort of hospitality I can do without.""Well, boy, you don't mince your words--'I'll give you that. So I'll be equally blunt. We have your trunks and we need the keys. Why don't you give them to me now and save yourself a great deal of trouble and heartache?""The keys belong to me and so do the trunks," I told her."Of course they do," Mistress Wurmalde replied, "and that's why we're willing to buy them from you.""They're not for sale.""Oh, I think they are. Especially when you hear the high price that we are willing to pay. In exchange for the trunks and the keys, we will give you the lives of your family. Otherwise ..."I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I 'was stunned by her offer."Well now, that's made you think, hasn't it?" she said, a gloating smile spreading across her face.How could I refuse to give her the keys? She'd implied that my refusal would result in the deaths of Jack, Ellie, and Mary. And yet, despite the pain in my heart, there was a very good reason to refuse. The trunks must be very important to the witch covens. They might contain something --perhaps knowledge of some sort--that could increase the threat from the dark. As Mr. Gregory had said, there was more at stake here than the safety of my family. I needed time. Time to speak to my master. And there was something else here that was strange. Witches were very strong. So why didn't she just take the keys from me by force?

 "I need some time to think," I told her. "I can't just decide now --""I will allow you one hour, and not a moment longer," she said. "Return to your room and think it over. Then come back here and give me your answer.""No," I protested. "That's not enough time. I need a day. A day and a night."Mistress Wurmalde frowned, and anger flashed into her eyes. She took a step toward me: Her skirts rustled18S186and the sound of her pointy shoes made two hard clicks on the cold flags of the kitchen. "Time to think is a luxury that you can ill afford," she told me. "Have you got an imagination, boy?"I nodded. My mouth was too dry to speak."Then let me paint a picture for you. Imagine a grim dungeon, dark and dreary, crawling with vermin and rats. Imagine a bone pit, redolent of the tormented dead, its stench an affront to high heaven. No daylight reaches it from the upper ground, and just one small candle is allowed each day, a few hours of flickering yellow light to illuminate the horror of that place. Your brother Jack is bound to a pillar. He rants and raves; his eyes are wild, his face gaunt, his mind in hell. Some of it is our doing, but most of the blame must fall to you and yours. Yes, it is your fault that he suffers."

 "How can it be my fault?" I asked angrily."Because you are your mother's son, and you have inherited the work that she has done. Both the work and the blame," said Mistress Wurmalde."What do you know of my mother?" I demanded, stung by her words."We are old enemies," she said, almost spitting the words out. "And we come from the same land --she from the barbarous north, I from more sophisticated southern climes. And we know each other well. Many times in the past we have struggled against each other. But my chance for revenge has now arrived, and I will prevail despite all that she can do. She is home now, but still exerts her strength against us. You see, we could not go into the room where the trunks were stored. Entry was forbidden to us. She forbade it from afar, weaving her power into a barrier we could not cross. In retaliation we beat your brother until his blood flowed, but he was stubborn, and when that failed to move him, we threatened to hurt his woman and child. At last he did our bidding and went inside to bring forth the trunks. But the room was not kind to him. Perhaps it was because he betrayed you. You see, jealous of your inheritance, he secretly had a copy made when your own key was in his possession. Within minutes of surrendering the trunks into our keeping, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he began to rant and rave. Thus his body lies in chains in a dungeon, but his mind must be in a place more terrible. Do you see the scene now? Is it becoming clearer?"

 Before I could reply, Mistress Wurmalde continued, "His wife is there, doing what little she can for him. Sometimes she bathes his brow. At other moments she tries to soothe his dementia with words. And for her it is hard, very hard, because she has deep sorrows of her own. It is bad enough that her young daughter is wasting away before her eyes and screams with night terrors. But even worse is the fact that she has lost her unborn child--the son and heir that your brother wanted so much. I very much doubt if the poor woman can take much more."But more can be supplied if that is what is needed to move you. There is a witch called Grimalkin, a cruel assassin that the Malkins sometimes send out against their enemies. She is skilled with weapons, particularly the long blade. She loves her principal work too well. Loves to kill and maim. But there is another skill that delights her sadistic mind. She loves to torture. Loves to inflict pain. Delights in the snip, snip of her scissors. Shall I place your family in her hands? It could be done with a word! So think, boy! Can you allow your family even one more hour of such torment--let alone the day and night you've demanded?"My mind reeled. I remembered the image of the scissors that Grimalkin had carved into the oak tree as a warning.

 What Wurmalde had described was terrible, and it took all my strength not to rip the keys from my neck and give them to her there and then. But instead I drew in a deep breath and tried to banish what she'd summoned from my mind's eye. I'd changed a lot in my time as the Spook's apprentice. In Priestown I'd faced an evil spirit called the Bane and refused its demand for freedom. In Anglezarke I'd confronted Golgoth, one of the old gods, and despite my belief that in doing so Iwould forfeit both my life and my soul, had refused his demand that I release him from a pentacle. But this was different. Now it was my family being directly threatened, and what had been described brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes.Despite that, one thing had been at the core of everything my master had taught me. I served the County and my first duty was to the people who lived there. To alt the people, not just to those I held dear."I still need a day and a night to think things through carefully. Give me that time, or the answer is no," I replied, trying to keep my voice firm.Mistress Wurmalde hissed through her teeth like a cat.

 "So you think to buy time, do you, hoping that by tomorrow they'll be rescued? Think again, boy! Don't delude yourself. The walls of Malkin Tower are strong indeed. You'd be a fool to place much faith in a few soldiers. Their blood will turn to water and their knees will soon begin to knock in tear. Pendle 'will swallow them up. It "will be as if they'd never existed!"She stood there, tall and arrogant, radiating malice and sure of her own power. I had no weapons here at my disposal, but they were available in Downham, not that many miles to the north. How would Mistress Wurmalde feel with a silver chain holding her fast, bound tight against her teeth? If I had my way, she'd find that out very soon. But for now I was defenseless. Witches are physically strong. I'd been in the grip of more than one, and Mistress Wurmalde looked powerful enough to seize me and snatch the keys from me by force. I wondered again why she didn't do so. Or use Tibb to do her dirty work for her.There was her position to keep up, as Father Stocks had told me. That would explain it in part. She would hope to keep her reputation intact, whatever happened in the next few weeks or days. But could it be something more than that? Maybe she actually couldn't take the keys from me by force. Maybe I had to give them to her freely or in exchange for something else? Perhaps Mam wielded interdiction even from a distance, forming thatbarrier of power. It was a faint hope, but one that I clung to desperately.

 "A day and a night," I told Mistress Wurmalde. "I need that time. My answer is the same --""Then take it!" she snapped. "And as you deliberate, think how your family are suffering. But you may not leave this house. I cannot allow it. Return to your room. Here you will remain until you surrender the keys.""If I don't go to Malkin Tower, Master Nowell will -wonder what's happened. ..."She smiled grimly. "I'll send word that both you and Father Stocks are indisposed with a fever. Master Nowell will be too busy tomorrow to concern himself with your absence. You'll be the very least of his worries. No, you must stay here. To attempt to leave without my permission would be very dangerous. This house is guarded by something you certainly wouldn't "wish to meet. You wouldn't get out alive."At that moment there came a sound from somewhere far off. The deep chimes of a clock reverberated throughthe house. It was midnight. The clock was striking twelve."Before this time tomorrow night, you must decide," Wurmalde warned. "Decide wrongly or fail to give an answer, and your family will die. The choice is yours."

TIBB

I
returned to my room and closed the door behind me. I was desperate to escape but afraid to try. All my courage seemed to have fled. Somewhere abroad within the house was Tibb, alert to my every move. I had nothing to defend myself with and suspected that I wouldn't reach an outer door before he fell upon me.At first, without even a thought of sleeping, my worries and fears swirling endlessly inside my head, I pulled a chair to the window and peered out into the night.

 There, bathed in moonlight, the grounds and countryside beyond looked at peace. Occasionally, in addition to the distant snoring of Father Stocks, I could hear faint scratching sounds from out on the landing. It could have been mice. But it could also have been Tibb on the prowl. It made me feel very nervous and uneasy.I opened the window and looked down at the wall below. It was covered in ivy. Could I escape through the window? Would the ivy bear my weight? I reached down below the sill and clutched the plant, but when I tugged it, leaves and branches came away in my hand. No doubt it was cut back from the windows at least once a year --this would be new growth. Perhaps a little farther down the stems would be thicker and 'woodier, the ivy's grip upon the stone wall firmer?But it was filled with risk. Wurmalde wouldn't be able to sniff out my bid for freedom; the instant I began mydescent, however, Tibb might. I'd have to climb very carefully, and that would take time. The creature would be waiting for me before I reached the ground. If I fell, it would be worse. . . . No, it was too risky. I let the thought seep away as images flooded in to replace it. The cruel pictures Wurmalde had placed in my mind became vivid and almost impossible to dismiss: Jack in torment; Mary screaming in fear, terrified of the dark; poor Ellie, mourning the unborn child she'd lost. The witch assassin, Grimalkin, let loose to inflict further pain. The snip, snip of her scissors ...But as the night slowly passed, my anxieties gave way to tiredness.

  My limbs grew heavy, and I felt the need to lie down on the bed. Like Father Stocks, I didn't bother to get undressed but simply lay on my back on top of the sheets. At first I didn't want to fall asleep, but soon my lids grew heavy and my eyes began to close, all my fears and concerns slowly ebbing away.I reminded myself that Wurmalde had given me a full day and a night to reach a decision. As long as I stayed inthe house, nothing would harm me. In the morning I'd be fresh and alert, able to find a way to solve all my problems. All I had to do was relax. . . .How long I slept I don't know, but some time later I was awakened suddenly by the sound of someone shouting."No! No! Leave me! Let me be! Get off me!"I heard it as if in a dream. For a few moments I didn't know where I was and stared up at the ceiling in bewilderment. It was very dark in the room--there was no longer any moonlight to see by. Only slowly did I recognize the voice as that of Father Stocks."Oh, God! Oh, God, deliver me!" he cried again, his voice filled with utter terror.What was the matter with him? What was happening? And then I realized that someone was hurting the priest. Was it the witch or Tibb? I had no weapons and didn't know what I could do, but I had to try to help him. Yet when I tried to sit up, I lacked the strength. My body felt heavy; my limbs didn't respond. What was wrong with me? I felt weak and ill.I hadn't touched the mutton, so it couldn't be poison. Was it some sort of spell? I'd been close to Wurmalde. Too close. No doubt she'd used some sort of dark magic against me.

 Then I heard Father Stocks begin to pray: "Out of the depths I cry to Thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice. ..."At first the priest's voice was clearly audible and punctuated by groans and cries of pain, but gradually it became a faint murmur before fading away altogether.There was a minute or so of silence, but then I heard scratching sounds outside my bedroom door. Again I tried to sit up. It was useless, but by making a great effort I found that I could move my head a little, and I turned it slightly to the right, so that I could look toward the door.My eyes were quickly adjusting to the darkness, and I could see enough to tell me that the door was very slightly ajar, hardly more than a crack. But as I watched, in fear and dismay, it slowly began to gape wider, making my heart hammer in my chest. Wider and wider ityawned, the hinges creaking as it slowly opened to its full extent. I gazed toward the deeper darkness beyond it, terrified but expectant. At any moment I would see Tibb enter the room.I could see nothing at all, but I could hear him--claws scratching and scrabbling, biting into wood. Then I realized that the sound was above, not below me. I looked upward just in time to see a dark shape moving across the ceiling like a spider, to halt directly above my bed. Unable to move anything but my head, I started to take deep breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat.