The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (25 page)

We continued on our way for another couple of hours. By now the cloud had cleared and it promised to be a fine night. As the sun sank towards the horizon, we set up camp for the night beside the track. Alice caught three rabbits, and soon they were turning on spits over the fire, the aroma making my mouth water.

Suddenly, in the distance, I heard the steady beating of a drum. It was getting closer, and soon we could hear a penny whistle too. It was music to march to. The soldiers from Burnley were on their way.

Realizing that they were coming along the track and would pass quite close by, Alice and Grimalkin retreated into the trees. There had been clashes in the past between the Pendle witches and the military, and they would certainly recognize Grimalkin again.

‘I’ve never understood why they wear jackets that colour!’ Judd exclaimed. ‘I was taught to wear a gown like this to camouflage me in the forest. They seem to be doing their best to be seen!’

I had to agree. The soldiers’ jackets of vivid County red made them clearly visible through the trees. We strolled over to the path.

There were about thirty men, all but one on foot. An officer
on
horseback led the column, and as they drew nearer I realized that he looked familiar. He had a ruddy complexion and was stoutly built. Then the small, neat black moustache confirmed it – this was Captain Horrocks, the officer who had led the group of soldiers laying siege to Malkin Tower. I had been imprisoned, falsely accused of murdering Father Stocks. Would the captain remember me? I wondered. The war had intervened, and after my escape I would surely have been forgotten. I was older and taller now, in any case.

As he came abreast of us, the captain raised his arm to bring his column of men to a halt. The penny whistle and drum fell silent. All that could be heard was the breathing of the horse. I looked down, avoiding his eyes.

‘I know you …’ he said quietly.

My heart missed a beat. Should I run for it? The witch, Wurmalde, had killed the priest, but she was dead now and I had no evidence to prove my innocence. I could still hang for a murder I hadn’t committed.

‘Aye, I’m Judd Brinscall. I brought your commanding officer warning of what’s afoot in Todmorden.’

When Judd spoke, I realized my mistake and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘What you’ve done is brought us out here on a wild-goose chase,’ the captain said, his voice caustic. ‘You spooks take money from gullible people for fighting the supposed dark, but you don’t fool me. Witches are nothing more than beggars and scoundrels. And as for your latest tale’ – he laughed contemptuously – ‘it is quite beyond belief. I’m following orders
and
have to investigate, but if I find the slightest evidence that you’ve brought us here under false pretences, then I’ll take you back to Burnley in chains! Do I make myself clear?’

‘People have been murdered, Captain,’ Judd said quietly, ‘and you’ll find the killers mostly ensconced on the other side of the river, as I explained. But if you’ll take my advice, make camp for the night and cross at dawn. Our enemies are at their strongest in darkness.’

‘So you’d have us believe. I don’t deny that there have been deaths, and if we find the perpetrators, justice will be swift. But you don’t scare me with your foolish tales. I’ve just fought a war and seen lots of deaths – scenes of carnage that I’ll carry with me to my dying day. After that, what we’ll encounter in Todmorden is nothing! Do I make myself clear?’

Judd didn’t reply, and with a scornful shake of his head Captain Horrocks led his men onwards. Some of the foot soldiers were smiling but others looked scared, especially the poor little drummer boy marching at the rear. After a few moments the drum and penny whistle started up again. We watched the column disappear into the trees and went back to our supper.

We were up soon after dawn and did without breakfast, pressing on towards Todmorden.

As we crossed the western moor above the town, people began to pass us, heading in the opposite direction – mostly individuals, but occasionally whole families carrying their possessions tied up in bundles. They were refugees fleeing the
County
side of the town. None of them looked very happy to see us. Some might have been from Todmorden itself and were perhaps aware of our part in triggering the crisis; others simply saw the spook’s garb and reacted as most folk did.

Everyone we tried to stop brushed past us angrily.

‘How bad is it?’ Judd asked, finally waylaying one old man who was struggling up the muddy path with the aid of a walking stick.

‘They’re murdering children!’ he exclaimed. ‘What could be worse than that? And they killed armed soldiers too. Who’s going to protect us now?’

I exchanged glances with Judd. No doubt, like me, he was hoping that they’d just picked off a few of the men from Burnley – maybe ambushed a small reconnaissance patrol that the captain had sent out. But it was worse than that – far worse.

The soldiers had camped on the top of the western moor within sight of Todmorden. Now they were all dead. Captain Horrocks had been decapitated. He lay on his back with his head between his boots. The embers of their fires were still smoking and they lay where they had been slaughtered, their throats ripped out. Some were on their backs, murdered as they awoke. Others had tried to run. None had got very far. Their corpses were covered in flies and the stench of blood made me retch.

We passed by without comment. I exchanged grim looks with Alice and Judd, but Grimalkin simply stared fixedly ahead, her face resolute. She had seen death many times and was no doubt hardened to it. There was in any case nothing to
be
done and too many for us to bury. The army would have to come and claim its own, but that might not be for many days.

When we got our first clear view of the west bank of the river, the town looked deserted. Soon we were walking through the cobbled streets towards the inn. We arrived just as the landlord was about to lock the front door. It had been mended since we were last here.

‘You’re going nowhere!’ Judd said, pushing him back into the inn.

‘You’ve a nerve coming back here!’ he said. ‘Because of what
you
did, the pact is over. By keeping to the agreement we’ve managed to live here safely for many years. We’re all food now!’

‘And which of the townsfolk made the pact?’ asked Judd. ‘Were you one of them?’

The man nodded. ‘There were three of us. The mayor, the grocer and me – the three wealthiest citizens – and when we did it, just over two years ago, things were very different. I didn’t realize how quickly things would go into decline and folk would leave. We did it for everybody – to save lives. Most people were scared to go anywhere near the foreigners, but we crossed the river and signed in our own blood. It was the best thing to do in the circumstances. Provided we gave them what they needed, they left us alone. But now the pact’s over and they’re out for revenge. I’ve got to get away from here. Once it’s dark I’m as good as dead! Mistress Fresque said I’m next on their list!’

Judd looked at us in turn and raised his eyebrows. We all
nodded
. There was no point in holding the terrified innkeeper here. He was thrust outside and his bundle of belongings thrown after him. Then we barred all the doors and waited for the first attack.

Outside, the breeze had died away almost to nothing and the night was warm. So we didn’t make a fire but settled down in the small dining room close to the bar. We didn’t even light a candle, allowing our eyes to adjust to the dark as best they could.

After about an hour we heard noises outside: a faint sniffing and scratching at the door, like a pet seeking entry. We kept perfectly still. Next we heard a growl, as if the creature had lost patience and wanted to get in immediately.

Suddenly the door bulged inwards, creaking and groaning on its hinges. Our attacker was almost certainly one of the moroi using the body of a bear. This was the means by which our enemies would force entry.

Grimalkin eased a throwing blade from its sheath. Once the head of the bear became visible, it was as good as dead. Her blade would find one of its eyes. But as soon as the door crashed open the bear dropped onto all fours and bounded away, giving her no clear shot. I heard her whistle through her pointy teeth in frustration.

All was silent again, but now we had a view of the cobbled street through the open doorway. In the middle distance, figures moved into view. There seemed to be three. Two were wearing capes and looked female; the nearer one was carrying a torch, and in its flickering light I could see her savage mouth
and
taloned hands. They were witches, without doubt. But the third figure was a man whom I recognized: the innkeeper. He hadn’t managed to escape the town, after all. Now he was their prisoner and his hands were bound behind his back. It was like watching a tableau, a play put on for our benefit. But it soon became clear that this was no play but a matter of life and death.

‘Now you will see what happens to those who defy us!’ cried the witch holding the torch.

I found it hard to make sense of what happened next. Something seemed to float down from the sky and land directly in front of the innkeeper. But how was that possible? Witches couldn’t fly. The idea that they rode broomsticks was just a silly superstition. The figure moved closer to its victim.

‘No! It wasn’t my fault!’ the innkeeper shouted, his voice shrill with terror. ‘Spare me, please. Don’t take my life, Lord! I always did what you asked. I was generous. I gave—’

There was suddenly a thin, high-pitched scream – it sounded like one of the pigs being slaughtered by Snout, the pig butcher back on the farm. The noise hung in the air, growing fainter and fainter. The innkeeper slumped to his knees and then fell forward onto his face.

Grimalkin drew a throwing blade and stepped forward as if to attack the witches. We prepared to follow her, but before we could do so our enemies took the initiative.

One of the figures – the one that had somehow dropped down from the sky – started to move towards us. There was something odd about its gait. It seemed to be gliding rather
than
walking. Nearer and nearer it came, until it filled the whole of the open doorway and started to drift into the room.

To my right Alice lifted a candle stub and muttered a spell under her breath, igniting the wick. In my time as the Spook’s apprentice I had seen many horrors, but there before me, lit by that flickering yellow flame, was something that outdid them all. The effect on me was bad enough – I began to tremble and my heart tried to thump its way out of my chest – but Judd must have been truly horrified at what manifested itself before us.

Floating before us was a woman. We seemed to be looking at her naked body, but something was terribly wrong. Her form was translucent – the candle flame showed what lay within. It was not inflated to its full taut shape; the bones and flesh were missing, and it was filled –
bloated
is maybe a better word – with blood. The skin was whole but there were just two blemishes: a horizontal scar around the neck where the head had been reattached to the body, and an area of puckered stitching over the heart.

It was the skin of Cosmina.

The mouth moved and spoke in a deep masculine growl: ‘
I am Siscoi, the Lord of Blood, the Drinker of Souls! Obey me now or you will suffer as few have suffered. Give to us what we seek and I will be merciful! I will kill you quickly. There will be little pain
.’

Grimalkin hurled a dagger straight at the throat of the grotesque figure but the blade skittered away harmlessly as if deflected by some invisible shield.

IF THIS WAS
indeed Siscoi, he wasn’t at all what I’d expected. He wasn’t using a host grown from the blood and offal in the pit. This seemed to be some bizarre form of possession – yet the skin was filled with blood, and given that the innkeeper had just died, some of it was probably his. The god could probably take our blood too – we were all in danger.

I lifted my staff and prepared to attack. I started to concentrate. I would use my most powerful gift – the ability to slow time. I’d employed it successfully when we’d bound the Fiend, and he was more powerful than any of the Old Gods, so I was confident that it would work here. But I’d hardly begun the process when Grimalkin snapped out a command:

‘You deal with it, Alice!’

In response, Alice lifted her left hand and began to mutter a spell; then, taking us all by surprise, Judd raced past us and, with a blood-curdling yell, drove the blade of his staff into the body – at the very point where he’d previously impaled Cosmina’s heart. I expected his blade to be deflected, but to my surprise it pierced the skin.