The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (13 page)

‘Draw that blade and you will no longer be under my protection!’ snapped Mistress Fresque. ‘Your master is not dead but in desperate need of your help. Calm yourself and I’ll take you to see him.’

I relinquished the hilt of my sword and nodded. The strigoica pointed to the door that led to the cellar steps. ‘He’s down there,’ she said, walking towards it.

She opened the door and, very cautiously, I followed her into the small room. A lot had changed since the previous night. The steps were clean and the walls were painted green and free of cobwebs. There were torches in brackets set at frequent intervals so our descent was well-lit. Had the Spook been down here last night, trapped in the darkness and surrounded by creatures from the dark? I wondered. I could have stayed and helped him, but instead I had panicked and run. I was ashamed of my behaviour and found it hard to explain. A lump came to my throat as I remembered the curse of the Pendle witches, which had once been used against the Spook:
You will die in a dark place far underground, with no friend at your side!

We reached the stone flags of the cellar. The only piece of furniture I could see was a wooden table, upon which stood a large black box with a hinged lid. Embossed in silver upon that lid was the image of a creature that I immediately recognized. I grew cold at the sight of it.

It was a skelt. But why was its head depicted on the box? It
made
me think of the
Doomdryte
’s cover, and the hilt of my sword.

I shuddered. There was something ominous about it, and my heart began to bang in my chest. Mistress Fresque walked straight up to it and lifted the lid.

‘Here is your master,’ she said.

Within the box lay the head of the Spook.

MY HEART SANK
into my boots and a flood of grief washed over me. I was too shocked to reply. I felt numb, unable to accept what I was seeing. The strigoica had lied. They had killed my master.

‘He can still speak,’ she said, ‘but he is in agony and no doubt constantly prays for release. Why don’t you ask him?’

No sooner had she said this than the Spook’s eyelids twitched and he stared up at me. His mouth opened and he tried to speak, but he could only croak, and a dribble of blood ran down his chin. An expression of pain flickered across his face and he closed his eyes again.

‘This has been done in revenge for what you and your allies
did
to the Fiend,’ Mistress Fresque said. ‘Your master will have no peace until you do what we require. To free his soul his head must be burned. I am willing to give it to you – but first you must bring me the head of the Fiend.’

The Spook groaned and opened his eyes again. He murmured something unintelligible, so I bent forward so that my right ear was close to his lips.

He seemed to choke, his eyes rolling in his head, then cleared his throat and struggled to speak again. ‘Help me, lad!’ he croaked. ‘Get me free of this. This is unbearable – worse than death. I’m in pain. I’m in terrible pain. Please set me free!’

The world spun about me. Overwhelmed by grief, I almost fell.

‘Can you bear to allow your master to remain in this pitiful state for a moment longer than is necessary?’ Mistress Fresque demanded. ‘We know of the witch who carries the Fiend’s head. Her name is Grimalkin. Summon her. Lure her to this place and, in exchange, you will be permitted to release your master from his torment.’

I felt sick to my stomach at what I was being asked to do. In order to destroy the Fiend I was being asked to sacrifice Alice; now his supporters wanted me to bring about the death of Grimalkin, another of my allies. But betraying Grimalkin was only the first of the consequences of returning the Fiend’s head to his servants. They would take it back to Ireland and reunite it with the body, freeing him from the pit at Kenmare. He would come for me and Alice, and snatch us away into the dark, dead or alive. The prospect terrified me, but my duty was
clear
in any case: it was owed to the people of the County. I could not allow the Fiend to return to the earth – which would soon become a darker and more desperate place. No, I could not do it. But I could seize my master’s head by force and give him peace.

I drew the sword.

Instantly a freezing wind gusted into the cellar and all the torches were extinguished. Out of the darkness I saw eyes staring at me. Each pair glowed red, as they had the previous night – but this time there were even more, and I heard threatening growls and noises that sounded like claws on the flags. I spun round, ready to defend myself, but saw that I was surrounded. Where had they come from? I wondered.

I was afraid. There were too many of them. What chance did I have against such odds?

‘It is not too late!’ Mistress Fresque hissed at me from the darkness. ‘Put away the sword immediately and you will be under my protection once more.’

With trembling hands I tried to sheathe the Destiny Blade. It took me three attempts to return it to its scabbard, but when I had done so, the red eyes faded, the scratching ceased, and the torches flared and filled the cellar with yellow light once more.

‘Another second and it would have been too late,’ Mistress Fresque told me, closing the lid of the box and turning to leave. ‘Follow me. Now that you have drawn your sword it isn’t safe for you to spend too much time below ground. My protection is limited.’

She led the way back up the steps and into the library. ‘Do not
delay
in summoning the witch assassin,’ she warned me. ‘We offer to release your master’s head in exchange for that of the Fiend, but it must be done soon. Every day you delay his torment will be increased. We can inflict unimaginable pain upon him.’

‘Where is the remainder of him?’ I asked, feeling cold inside at the thought of what had been done to my master. ‘I would like to bury his body.’

I knew I’d have to burn the head to release his sprit from the dark magic used, but burying the rest of him would make me feel better. The Church wouldn’t allow a spook to be put to rest in hallowed ground, but I might find a sympathetic priest to say a few words and allow my master to be buried close to a graveyard. But even that hope was quickly dashed.

‘That is not possible,’ Mistress Fresque said coldly. ‘The rest of his body was not needed for our purposes so we fed it to a moroi. They are extremely hungry elemental spirits which have to be appeased.’

Disgusted and angry, I turned on my heel and left the house without another word. I headed for the riverbank, crossed the bridge and sat down under the trees to think things through and consider my options.

The thought of my master suffering like that was unbearable – he was enduring such terrible pain. However, my duty was clear: I had to leave him for now. How could I possibly deceive Grimalkin and lure her here, allowing the Fiend’s head to fall into the hands of the strigoica and her allies? It must be kept
away
from them; I had to use the time to find a way to destroy him for ever.

I don’t know how long I sat there, pondering my limited options, but at one point I wept for the Spook, who had served the County well and suffered much to protect it. He had also been more than a master to me; he had become my friend. He deserved a better end to his life. I’d hoped that as I completed my apprenticeship, he would start to reduce his own workload while I took a greater part of the burden until he finally retired. Now our future together had been snatched away. I was alone, and it was both a sad and a scary feeling.

Eventually I came to a decision and walked back to the tavern. I went up to my room and from the Spook’s bag I took a small piece of cheese and enough money to pay the landlord. I left both bags in my room, locked it and went downstairs.

He scowled when I approached, but soon brightened when I dropped a silver coin into his palm.

‘That’s for two more nights,’ I told him.

‘Did you find your master?’ he asked.

I didn’t reply, but as I walked away he called after me, ‘If he’s not back by now he must be dead, boy. You’ll end up the same way if you don’t go home!’

I headed back to the bridge, nibbled at the cheese and washed it down with a few mouthfuls of cold river water. I thought about Mistress Fresque’s house. How could it be clean and orderly during the day, with its library full of books, but a dilapidated ruin at night? Some type of powerful dark magic was being used here – a spell of illusion.

So what was the truth about that house – its day-time and night-time condition? Spooks had to develop and trust their instincts, and mine told me that its ruinous condition at night was its true state.

What would my master advise me to do? I asked myself. Instantly I knew. He would advise me to be bold and act like a spook! I would put my fears behind me. I could take back my master’s head by force and thus give him the peace he deserved. I had the Destiny Blade, and I was determined to use it. I would clean out that vile cellar and kill all the creatures of the dark within it. And I would attack at night when things were as they seemed.

It was time to stop being afraid. Now
I
would become the hunter.

SOON AFTER DARK
I began to climb Bent Lane once more. As I walked, I pondered on what I was facing. The Spook’s Bestiary was back at Chipenden – it would be the first book to be placed in the new library – so I could not use it as a reference source. Desperately I dredged my mind for what I had read about Romanian creatures of the dark.

Strigoii and strigoica were daemons, male and female respectively. They worked and lived in pairs. The male possessed the body of a dead person and had to spend the daylight hours hidden from sunlight, which could destroy him. The other, the female, possessed the body of a living person and was on guard during the day. No doubt Mistress Fresque had
once
been a nice ordinary young woman, but now her body had been taken over by a malevolent creature of the dark. I had decapitated her partner, but she’d said that wasn’t the end of him. Normally slaying a daemon with a silver-alloy blade would bring about its destruction, but these Romanians seemed very powerful. I had seen the strigoi leave its dead host; now it would be searching for another. Once it had found one, it would seek me out. How could I put a permanent end to it? I wondered. There were far too many unknowns here.

There was something else that was even more worrying. Mistress Fresque had said that she had been ordered to lure us to this place – commanded by others who could summon a being so powerful that it could ‘obliterate her in an instant’. What could that be? Had there been anything about such an entity in the Spook’s Bestiary? I could not recall anything. Romania had seemed so far away, and I could not believe that its denizens of the dark posed much of a threat. Consequently I had read the entries fast – skimming the information rather than absorbing it properly for future use. I shook my head, annoyed with myself. From now on I must become more thorough, and think and act like a spook rather than an apprentice.

Now I was approaching the dark tunnel of trees once more. I hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces along the path when I heard those disturbing noises to my right.

I stopped, and whatever it was stopped too, but I could still hear slow heavy breathing. I had a choice: either I could continue along the path until I reached the front door of the
strigoica
’s residence, or I could stop and deal with this creature once and for all.

Without delay, I drew my sword. Instantly the ruby eyes of the Destiny Blade began to glow red, illuminating what I faced. A huge bear was lumbering towards me on all fours. All at once it stood up on its hind legs, towering over me, and for the first time I saw its claws clearly. They resembled long curved daggers and looked razor-sharp, capable of tearing human flesh to shreds. The bear was immensely powerful and could no doubt crush the life out of me in seconds. It opened its mouth wide and roared, saliva dripping from its teeth, the stench of its hot breath washing over me. I raised the sword, ready to meet its advance.