The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (11 page)

‘They’re at the big house at the top of Bent Lane,’ I told him.

‘Bent Lane? But that’s on the other side of the river. You
won
’t get me over that bridge for all the brass in the world!’

‘Is it the bridge that worries you? If necessary, we can carry the books over to this side.’

‘The bridge is sturdier than it looks, but it’s the things on the other side that bother me. I’d never get my horses onto that side of the river anyway. They’d be scared of being eaten.’

‘By the bears?’ I asked.

‘Aye, maybe by the bears – but maybe by
other
things that it’s best not to think about – by the foreigners!’

It was a waste of time arguing with a man who held such crazy notions, so I quickly suggested a compromise: ‘Will you do the job if we carry the books across the bridge?’

‘Aye, that I will, just as long as the sun’s high in the sky,’ Mr Benson said. ‘I’ll be there at noon tomorrow. How much will ye pay?’

‘That’s up to my master, John Gregory, but he said he’ll be generous so don’t you worry.’

We shook hands on it and I set off back towards Todmorden. It would take several trips for us to get the books to this side of the river, but it was the best deal I could get. And then a word came into my head –
foreigners
– and a chill ran down my spine.

In the County, folk sometimes used the word ‘foreigners’ when talking about outsiders – even people from a neighbouring county. But I suddenly thought of Mistress Fresque. She came from Romania and was a true foreigner to our shores, like her uncle before her. Was the Spook’s instinct correct? Did she pose some kind of threat? Was she the one that people on this bank of the river were scared of?

I suddenly realized that the sun would be setting in less than half an hour. It would be dark before I reached the house! Could my master be in danger? I wondered.

I broke into a run. Surely the Spook wouldn’t stay there? No – he’d return to the tavern. But if I got back after dark I’d be locked out  . . .  or would my master let me in despite the wishes of the innkeeper?

The sun went down well before I began my descent into Todmorden. By the time I reached the tavern it was totally dark. I hammered on the door. The sound echoed along the streets, and I had that strange feeling again – the one I’d had as we’d approached Cosmina’s house: as if something dangerous was nearby but invisible; as if the whole world was holding its breath.

Now I felt really scared, and I thumped on the door again, this time with my staff. I kept hammering at it until I got a response. It wasn’t the one I’d hoped for. I’d expected my master to come downstairs and let me in. Instead the window directly above the door opened and a voice called down:

‘Be off with you! You’ll attract trouble making all that noise.’

It was the landlord, but there was no light shining from the open window and his face was in darkness.

‘Let me in!’ I cried.

‘I have told you already: nobody enters here after dark!’ he hissed down at me. ‘Come back tomorrow morning – if you’re still breathing.’

‘Please tell my master I’m here, then,’ I begged, unnerved by his words. ‘Ask him to come and talk to me.’

‘You’re wasting your time. Your master isn’t here. He didn’t come back. If he’s still at Mistress Fresque’s house, you won’t be seeing him again. Best thing you can do, boy, is stay on this side of the river until dawn!’

My heart lurched at his words; they confirmed my worst fears. The Spook was in danger.

The landlord slammed the window shut, leaving me alone. My body started to shake, and I suddenly felt a strong urge to take his advice and stay on this side of the bridge. But how could I leave my master? I might already be too late, but I had to try and save him, whatever the cost to myself. What sort of threat did Mistress Fresque pose? Farmer Benson had talked about the ‘foreigners’ eating his horses. It had seemed a crazy thing to say at the time, but now I considered the implications of his words. Did they eat
people
too? Could they be cannibals?

I crossed the river and set off for Bent Lane, where I stopped and listened. All I could hear was the wind sighing through the trees. Then, somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted twice. A crescent moon hung just above the horizon, but its light could not penetrate the canopy that shrouded the lane. It was a dark tunnel filled with unknown dangers. Gripping my staff tightly, I began to walk up the slope towards the house.

Perhaps the Spook had simply accepted an invitation to spend the night at Mistress Fresque’s house. If so, was he simply a guest or in real danger? Was I worrying for nothing – simply letting my imagination get the better of me? Judd would be staying at the house as well, so there were two spooks to deal with any threat. Well, I told myself, I would find out soon enough.

I was about halfway up the lane when I heard something moving to my right. Something big was padding through the trees. I came to a halt, my heart thumping, alert for danger, and held my staff diagonally in front of me.

The noises stopped. When I set off again, they started up too. It sounded like a large animal beside me, almost as if I was being escorted. Was it a bear? If so, at least it wasn’t getting any closer.

Suddenly I saw the house through the trees, and whatever had been accompanying me was suddenly gone, as if it had vanished into thin air.

The windows were dark, but I could just make out the outline of the building. I stepped round the tree and walked up to the front door. To my surprise it was wide open, hanging from one hinge. Beyond it I could see nothing. The darkness within was absolute. I rested my staff against the wall, then reached into my breeches pocket and pulled out a candle stub, using my little tinderbox to light it. Holding it up in my right hand, and my staff in my left, I stepped into the hallway.

Immediately I knew that something was badly wrong. There was a strong stench of rot and decay, and I noted a thick coating of dust along the top of the wainscot. It certainly hadn’t been there earlier in the day. Not only that, there was paint flaking from the door frame. Previously, everything inside the house had been clean, polished and well-maintained. It didn’t make sense.

I went up to the oval door at the end of the passage. I tried the handle, but it was locked. That was no problem because I
had
in my pocket a special key made by Andrew, the Spook’s locksmith brother, which would open most doors. I inserted the key, and within seconds the lock yielded. Returning the key to my pocket, I eased open the door and lifted the candle high to illuminate the lower floor of the library.

But what I saw in front of me was incredible  . . .  impossible: the shelves were empty of books and many of the bookcases had collapsed. Spiders’ webs covered those few that remained intact. I looked down and saw my footprints in a thick coating of dust. It looked as if nobody had entered this room for many long years. Of the table that had held the books we’d selected earlier there was now no sign at all.

How could that be, I wondered, when I had been here with my master this very morning?

I looked up at the other floors of the library. The light from my candle could reach no further than the one directly above, but it appeared to be in the same state of disrepair and neglect.

Suddenly a chill ran the length of my spine – the warning that a seventh son of a seventh son often receives when something from the dark is approaching – and, out of nowhere, a strong wind blew up. The candle flame flickered and went out, plunging me into darkness.

FOR A MOMENT
the darkness seemed absolute. The moon could not penetrate the trees that shrouded the house, and no light was coming in through either door or window.

My heart thudded and quickened. I took a deep breath to calm myself and realized that I was mistaken – there
was
a faint source of light in the room, coming from one of the dilapidated bookcases beside the oval door. On it a single book was glowing with a lurid red light.

I took a step closer. The book was propped up against the back of the shelf, its title clearly visible. It was the
Doomdryte
, the dangerous grimoire that my master had wanted to destroy.

I heard a deep growl to my right and spun round. What I saw
made
me take an involuntary step backwards. Terrifying, malevolent eyes stared at me out of a bestial face. The creature’s head was completely bald and its ears were large and pointed and covered in long fine hair. Long curved fangs curled down over its bottom lip. Orange light radiated from the whole body, which was human in shape and stood about six feet tall. It wore heavy boots and filthy ragged clothes that were caked in mud. Its hands were twice the size of mine, each digit ending in a long sharp talon.

It growled again and took a step towards me. I retreated, holding my staff across me defensively. I couldn’t remember seeing anything like this before. Had I ever glimpsed an image of this creature in the Spook’s Bestiary? A sketch he’d made from someone else’s description? I vaguely remembered something. What was it  . . . ?

With a click I released my staff’s retractable blade – made of a silver alloy and effective against most creatures of the dark. I was ready to repel any attack, but this did me no good at all. The creature was incredibly fast. One minute it was glaring at me with its menacing eyes; the next it had surged past me in a blur, snatching the staff out of my hands. I lost my balance, fell to my knees and saw it standing on the other side of the room, examining my staff. Suddenly it snapped it in two and threw the pieces down.

‘The weapon was puny and no threat to me at all,’ it growled. ‘You are young. You will taste better than your master!’

At those words I shuddered.
Taste?
Had the creature killed and eaten the Spook? Was that what it meant? Was I too late? I
felt
a moment of anguish, then pushed my feelings aside and forced myself to concentrate as my master had taught me.

I suddenly wondered about Mistress Fresque. The house and library looked very different now. Was the girl in her true form? Was she a shape-shifter? I wondered. Or was this something else?

The creature slowly took a step towards me; it might attack at any moment.

So I moved first, reaching inside my gown with my left hand.

I drew the Destiny Blade.

Immediately there was a third source of light in the room to add to that of the
Doomdryte
and the fanged creature that threatened me. It came from the sword.

I glanced down at it. The ruby eyes of the skelt were glowing, and from them beads of blood were dripping onto the floor. The blade was hungry.

I readied the sword as the bestial creature stared at me, eyes glowing. Suddenly a blur of orange light streaked towards me. I slashed at it horizontally, striking more by instinct than skill. Maybe I got lucky – but whatever happened, I felt an impact and the sword was almost torn from my hands. Somehow I held onto it and gripped it tighter. Blood was still dripping from the ruby eyes, but now there was also a fresh stain on the blade.

The creature reappeared in front of me, its back to the dilapidated shelving. It was crouching, head bowed forward, holding its shoulder, from where blood was spreading in a large stain. I’d cut it, but had I hurt it badly enough to give me an advantage?

‘Where is my master?’ I demanded.

Its reply was a low growl. The time for words was past. One of us was going to die here.

I took a cautious step towards it, and then another. It might still be able to move faster than I could react; it could rip out my throat before I moved to defend myself.

So I called upon one of my gifts – the special ability that I’d inherited from my mother. I could slow time  . . .  make it stop. It was very difficult, but I’d been trained to use the blade by Grimalkin, the witch assassin, and she’d made me practise this skill under combat conditions.

Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!

The creature attacked again, but my heart was steady and my focus on the task was increasing. The blur of orange light moving towards me resolved itself into a shape. Its intent was clear, for its mouth was open, revealing two sets of teeth. The upper ones were long fangs; the lower ones were smaller and thin, like needles. The beast’s arms were held wide, ready to embrace me in a hug of death.