BOOK ONE:
THE SPOOK’S APPRENTICE
BOOK TWO:
THE SPOOK’S CURSE
BOOK THREE:
THE SPOOK’S SECRET
BOOK FOUR:
THE SPOOK’S BATTLE
BOOK FIVE:
THE SPOOK’S MISTAKE
BOOK SIX:
THE SPOOK’S SACRIFICE
BOOK SEVEN:
THE SPOOK’S NIGHTMARE
BOOK EIGHT:
THE SPOOK’S DESTINY
BOOK NINE:
SPOOK’S: I AM GRIMALKIN
BOOK TEN:
THE SPOOK’S BLOOD
BOOK ELEVEN:
SPOOK’S: SLITHER’S TALE
BOOK TWELVE:
SPOOK’S: ALICE
BOOK THIRTEEN:
THE SPOOK’S REVENGE
THE SPOOK’S STORIES:
WITCHES
THE SPOOK’S BESTIARY
THE SEVENTH APPRENTICE
A NEW DARKNESS
THE DARK ARMY
DARK ASSASSIN
ARENA 13
ARENA 13: THE PREY
Joseph Delaney lives in the heart of boggart territory - his very own village has one called the Hall Knocker, which was laid to rest under the step of a house near the church. In fact, over the twelve years he has been creating the world of the County Spook, Joseph has encountered two boggarts, a ghast and a ghoul – all of which have provided ripe source material for his spine-chilling tales.
Many of the locations in the Spook’s books are based on real places in Lancashire, and the inspiration behind the stories often comes from local ghost stories and legends.
The County that the Spook is sworn to protect is under threat from the beasts who killed his oldest ally. But their inhuman ambition stretches way beyond the County’s borders and the future of all people hangs in the balance, caught in a supernatural struggle between beings of the utmost power.
Forces from both the dark and the light must stand side by side in this, the ultimate battle for the entire world.
The war that will decide the fate of humanity unfolds in this blood-curdling tale from the bestselling author of The Spook’s Apprentice.
I ACCOMPANIED ALICE to the edge of the garden, where we halted and kissed goodbye.
‘Take care,’ I begged her. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Alice was just about the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, but now there was sadness in her beautiful eyes. She felt the same way as I did: we didn’t want to be apart.
She was off to Pendle once more to try to form an alliance with the witches there. She’d already made two failed attempts. The three main clans – the Malkins, the Deanes and the Mouldheels – didn’t get on. Well, that was to seriously understate the situation. There was rivalry and hatred between them; sometimes they even fought and killed each other. But an alliance between these clans and us was vital if we were to defend the County against the magic of the Kobalos mages.
The witch clans had formed alliances before, so I knew it was possible, and Alice was optimistic. I had to hope.
The dark army of the bestial Kobalos was approaching the far shore of the Northern Sea, their malicious gaze fixed upon our own country. But there was an even more immediate danger. Using powerful magic, their High Mages were able to project themselves directly into the County. They could bring a few warriors with them and attack at any time.
By now the military were aware of the army and the County was on a war footing against the threat of invasion. Forces from the two main barracks, at Burnley and Colne, had marched east to fortify the border. Those that remained were stretched thin, fighting off Kobalos raids. People were scared, and travel was dangerous.
The Kobalos mages had also tried to summon Golgoth, the Lord of Winter, into the County. Had they succeeded, we would have been plunged into a permanent winter, the countryside left frozen and weakened by famine. Only with the help of the Old God, Pan, and Alice’s powerful magic had we managed to prevent that. Despite this, I’d never felt so vulnerable; never felt less able to do my duty and protect the County from the dark.
‘You take care too, Tom. Ain’t going to be away for more than a week, I promise you,’ Alice told me now.
We hugged, kissed again, and then she set off for Pendle. She was wearing a green dress and a short brown jacket as protection against the chill air. It was early spring, but as yet there was little warmth in the sun. As she walked away, I glanced down at her pointy shoes, the mark of a witch. Alice had finally gone to the dark, but she wasn’t a witch who practised bone, blood or familiar magic – she was an earth witch, perhaps the first one ever. She served Pan and drew her magic from the Earth itself.
Just before she reached the edge of the slope, she turned and waved to me. I waved back, and then she was out of sight. Already missing her, I turned back to the garden and headed for the practice post.
As I did so, I saw a silver chain falling towards it, spinning widdershins – against the clock. It formed a spiral, tightening upon the post in the classic manner, achieving a perfect spread from top to bottom. Had that post been a witch, she would have been bound from head to knee, the chain tightening hard against her teeth to prevent her from chanting spells.
‘Well done, Jenny!’ I called out.
Jenny was my apprentice. I knew that my own master, John Gregory, would never have taken her on. To become a spook’s apprentice you had to be a seventh son of a seventh son.
Jenny was a girl; as far as I knew, she was the first girl ever to have been trained by a spook. She claimed to be a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, but I’d never been able to verify that because she’d been brought up by foster parents. Still, I could not deny that she had gifts that were useful when fighting the dark – different ones from mine. She could make herself almost invisible and possessed such great empathy that she could almost read people’s minds.
I looked at her as she stood there smiling. Her face was freckled and she had different-coloured eyes – the left was blue, the right one green.
‘Well, what’s your score?’ I demanded.
‘I’ve managed fifteen successes in twenty attempts! A couple more weeks of this and I’ll be better than you!’ she said cheekily.
That success rate was good, but I would have preferred a little more respect from my apprentice. The trouble was, I was only two years older than her; in August I’d be eighteen and she’d be sixteen. We even shared the same birthday – the third. My own apprenticeship had come to a premature end when my master had been killed fighting enemy witches.
Suddenly a sound drew our attention. It was the pealing of the bell at the withy trees crossroads. Our garden was guarded by the boggart, Kratch, which meant that it was dangerous for outsiders to venture in, so those in need of help stayed clear; they usually went to the crossroads and summoned me by ringing the bell.
‘It’s spook’s business,’ I said softly.
The last couple of days had been quiet, but I’d known that it couldn’t last. There were always local threats from the dark in the County. This time the danger might come from the Kobalos.
‘Can I come with you?’ Jenny asked.
‘No, Jenny, it’s best that I go alone. You carry on practising here. You’ll need to work a lot harder if you want to be as good as me!’
Here in the garden the boggart would keep her safe against most things, I knew. Beyond its boundaries it was a different matter.
I was carrying my staff, but I also had the powerful Starblade in a scabbard on my back. As long as I held it or had it on my person, dark magic couldn’t harm me.
‘But if it means a journey, can I go with you to sort out the problem?’ Jenny persisted.
My apprentice had to be trained, and that meant sharing the danger of our craft. So I nodded and, with a grin, she went to retrieve my silver chain and prepared to cast it at the post again. I supposed that I had to let her learn, just as I had …
As I strode out of the garden and headed towards the sound of that pealing bell, a wave of sadness washed over me. Things had changed so much since I’d begun my own apprenticeship. Not only was my master, John Gregory, dead; Grimalkin, the assassin of the Malkin clan, had been slain by Golgoth. Although she was a witch, she’d been a strong and powerful ally who had taken the lead in fighting the Kobalos. I would almost go so far as to say that she had become a friend. She’d certainly saved my life on several occasions. It was Grimalkin who had forged the Starblade for me, and then trained me in its use. She would be greatly missed.
As I walked, I glanced up at the fells that rose far above the village – Parlick Pike and Wolf Fell. Their summits were still white with snow which sparkled in the sunlight.
As I reached the withy trees, the pealing of the bell ceased. Whoever was ringing it must have heard my approach. People were often nervous when waiting to speak to a spook, not sure what to expect from the man who wore a cloak and carried a staff and a silver chain. Sometimes those nerves got the better of them and they left before I arrived.
I headed into the shade of the trees and saw a stocky figure standing by the bellrope, which was dancing and swaying at his side. He wore a black gown and hood and even carried a staff – he was dressed like a spook! Who could it be? This man was surely too broad to be Judd Brinscall, who worked the territory north of Caster.
I halted close to him, and he suddenly pulled back his hood to reveal his face.
The shock of what I saw took my breath away.
It was impossible.
I was gazing at a dead man …
BILL ARKWRIGHT HAD died in Greece fighting a rearguard action against the dangerous fire elementals which had pursued us. He’d taken up a position between us and their deadly flames, thus buying time but sacrificing his life so that the Spook, Alice and I could escape.
In appearance, this was certainly the Arkwright I remembered – the man who, at the request of John Gregory, had given me six months’ training to toughen me up.
He had a shaven head, striking green eyes and a sturdy body that suggested great strength. The rowan staff he carried differed from mine, which had a retractable blade; his was tipped with a twelve-inch blade with six backward-facing barbs, three on each side. By his side lay a heavy bag at least twice the size of the one I usually carried.
Yes, this was the exact likeness of the Bill Arkwright I remembered from life. I had once encountered what I thought was Arkwright’s ghost, its face badly burned, as if by a fire elemental, but the man who stood before me had no scars whatsoever.
Instantly I was on my guard. This could be a trick. Kobalos High Mages were expert shape-shifters.
I cast my staff down on the ground and drew the Starblade from its scabbard, gripping it with both hands and pointing it at the figure before me
‘Throw down your staff and kneel on your hands!’ I commanded.
‘Well, Master Ward, what sort of a welcome do you call this!’ the figure growled angrily, sounding just like Bill Arkwright. ‘I’ve travelled a long way to greet you, and what do I get for my pains? I’m threatened with a rusty sword!’
‘It’s the only welcome you’ll get until I’m sure you’re who you say you are,’ I retorted.
The Starblade wasn’t much to look at, I knew, but it was incredibly sharp and strong. If I wielded it with confidence, it could slice through the toughest armour. It would also defend me against any dark magic that might be used against me here. The witch assassin, Grimalkin, had imbued it with her powerful magic.
Rather than obeying my command, the man held his staff at an angle of forty-five degrees, in the defensive position. Then he sucked in a breath and suddenly attacked, bringing the weapon round in an arc, aiming at my head.
But suspicion had made me ready. I raised the Starblade to block the blow, and with barely a shudder the sword cut into his staff as if it was butter, slicing it neatly in two. I paused, not pressing home my attack. Arkwright had taken aim with the base of his staff rather than the blade, so he hadn’t intended to kill me.
He threw the two pieces of staff away in disgust and glared at me.
‘I’ll tell you just one more time. Kneel on your hands!’ I shouted angrily.
‘Well, Master Ward, I’m prepared to humour you for a while. But if you know what’s good for you, you won’t try my patience too far.’
The man who called himself Bill Arkwright slowly knelt down on the ground, glaring up at me sullenly, his hands at his sides.
‘Now kneel on your hands!’ I ordered.
For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, but then, with a scowl, he did so.
‘We have a problem,’ I told him. ‘I believed you to be dead, slain in Greece years ago. If you survived, then why wait so long to come here and show yourself?’
‘You have the gifts of a seventh son of a seventh son,’ he said calmly. ‘What about that sense of cold that tells you something from the dark is close by? Do you feel it now? If you don’t, I’m not from the dark and well you know it!’
From somewhere to my left, in the shadows of the trees, came the raucous cry of a raven. I forced myself not to be distracted, despite the racket it was making. I focused all my attention on the figure kneeling on his hands.
I shook my head.
‘Then I’m not from the dark – it’s as simple as that!’ Arkwright insisted.
I thought back – I had never actually seen his dead body in Greece.
‘Nothing is simple any more,’ I told this man. ‘Many times I’ve been close to the dark and never had that warning. It doesn’t always work, especially with the powerful Kobalos mages. You could be one of them.’ I’d already encountered a human who’d turned out to be one of the High Mages – second in rank and power only to the Triumvirate that ruled the Kobalos.
‘Then we have a stand-off, Master Ward. So how can we resolve it?’ Arkwright asked me.
‘Let’s start with some explanations from you. How did you survive the encounter with the fire elementals? Then, assuming you did so, why did it take you so long to return here? The help of another spook would have proved useful over the past years. So where were you when you were needed?’
‘I was badly hurt when I fought those daemonic elementals to give you time to escape,’ Arkwright said angrily. ‘For a while I lost my sight, but the damage was more to my mind than my body. I wandered in Greece for a long time, not caring if I lived or died. I begged like a dog … I turned to drink again. You remember that old weakness of mine, Master Ward?’
I nodded. Bill Arkwright had been addicted to red wine, but he’d overcome his need. It was plausible that he’d lapsed into his old ways. Many people addicted to alcohol did exactly that.
‘It took me a long time to kick the habit and find myself again. But at last I did, and embarked on the long sea voyage from Greece. There were rumours of war – a threat from the north – but little hard information was to be had. When I reached the County, I learned that John Gregory was dead and that his apprentice, Tom Ward, was the new Chipenden Spook. So I’m here to offer my services. Better late than never, eh?’
‘If you really are Bill Arkwright, your help will be very welcome. But I have to be sure. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen and experienced; the deceits that have been perpetrated.’
I had been the pawn of others too many times. For all I knew, I could be confronting Balkai, the most powerful of the Kobalos mages, in human form. His magic couldn’t harm me while I had the Starblade, but I had to be vigilant … How could I ever be certain that this was indeed Bill Arkwright?
As I reached forward and tugged the bellrope, I heard the beating of wings: the raven had taken flight. I hoped that Jenny would hear the ringing bell and, knowing that I was already at the crossroads, come and investigate. Maybe her gift of empathy could help me get at the truth.
‘Who are you calling?’ Arkwright asked me, looking up at the bell swinging above us.
‘Jenny, my apprentice.’
‘Did I hear you correctly, Master Ward? Your apprentice is called Jenny? You’re training a girl?’
WE STOOD GLARING at each other in silence until I heard Jenny approaching through the trees.
She walked quickly towards us, a figure full of youthful energy. But when she noticed my prisoner kneeling on his hands before me, she began to slow down. She came to a halt, her eyes glancing at the two pieces of rowan staff on the ground.
‘Is he a spook?’ she asked me.
‘Perhaps,’ I answered. ‘He looks like a spook called Bill Arkwright who once trained me for six months. But I fear that he is really something else. Is he a Kobalos mage?’
There was a silence as Jenny stared at the man in front of us.
‘He looks like Arkwright and he talks like Arkwright. But I believed Arkwright to be dead,’ I went on. ‘Now, after years away, he turns up out of the blue. He has a plausible story to account for his absence, but we can’t afford to take any chances. So you tell me what you think. Use your gift of empathy. Tell me what the inside of his head looks like.’
‘Empathy!’ sneered the man kneeling before us. ‘So she has gifts like we do, only hers are different. Is that it? Next you’ll be telling me that she’s the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter!’
‘I am!’ Jenny moved a little closer to him.
He shifted his weight so I jabbed the point of the sword towards his throat. ‘Keep still. I’ll assume the slightest move to be a threat!’ I warned.
‘This may not work,’ Jenny said uneasily. She frowned, then closed her eyes in concentration. She stood there for a few seconds, then opened her eyes wide and jabbed her finger towards the kneeling man.
‘He has a temper! He’s very angry with you for doubting him. He likes a drink too. That temptation is always there. He’ll never be free of it – there’s a lot of pain deep inside him. He’s all mixed up, I think. He’s dangerous too, with a ruthless streak. He loves dogs but he hates witches!’ she finished, turning to look at me.
‘That’s a good summary of the Bill Arkwright I knew. But is it really him? Is he human or Kobalos?’ I asked.
‘Witches and mages are hard to empathize with. He seems human enough to me,’ Jenny replied.
‘But maybe a clever Kobalos mage could shield his mind with the thoughts of someone else,’ I said, thinking aloud.
‘Surely there are some things that such an impersonator wouldn’t know,’ said Arkwright. ‘We’ve a lot of history between us, Master Ward. What about the months I spent training you? Ask me a question that only I would know the answer to.’
The first question came to mind very quickly: ‘How did you teach me to swim?’ I asked.
‘I threw you into the canal! Cold, wasn’t it? But it worked!’
I stared at the man and nodded. Then I thought of something that only the real Bill Arkwright could know. He would find this painful, but it had to be done.
‘There was something about the mill where you lived that I found really strange. It was a situation that most spooks wouldn’t have tolerated,’ I said, studying him closely.
Pain clouded his eyes and he let out a deep sigh. ‘I had ghosts there. Spooks usually rid buildings of any such entities – that’s part of their job – but I hadn’t. I know you didn’t like it, Master Ward, but as you finally discovered, the ghosts were those of my parents, Abe and Amelia. I kept their coffins in their bedroom at the top of the house. My father was killed when he fell from the roof. My mother couldn’t bear to live without him so she threw herself under the waterwheel.
‘Because she was a suicide, she couldn’t cross to the light, so my father’s ghost chose to stay with her so she wouldn’t be alone. I’d done my level best to send them to the light, but I failed – as did our master, John Gregory. But it was you, Master Ward, who won their freedom. At great risk to yourself, you made a bargain with the Fiend and he released my mother. Then they were both able to go to the light. I’ll be eternally grateful for that.’
I nodded. Only Bill Arkwright could know these details. Surely it had to be him.
Jenny and I exchanged glances, and I nodded. Then I turned back to Arkwright.
‘We managed to destroy the Fiend, but now we have a worse enemy,’ I told him. ‘I’d be happy to have your help. I’m sorry for doubting you.’
I sheathed the Starblade and held out my hand. Bill Arkwright gripped it and I hauled him to his feet.
The boggart made the breakfasts, but other meals were down to us and neither Jenny nor I was a particularly good cook. However, Bill Arkwright was – my mouth still watered when I remembered the fish he’d cooked back at the mill – and that evening he served up a delicious chicken casserole.
I still felt a little ill at ease with him, but as we sat eating our supper in the kitchen, I tried to bring him up to date with all that had happened. While we talked, Jenny remained silent, no doubt sensing his attitude to girl apprentices.
‘What happened to my three dogs?’ Arkwright asked suddenly.
‘Blood and Bone are still alive and well. They’re with a spook called Judd Brinscall who’s living at the watermill and covering your old territory. But their mother, Claw, is dead,’ I told him. ‘She was killed in the same battle as John Gregory.’
I was surprised when Arkwright didn’t comment on the death of his dog. He simply nodded and said, ‘They’re my dogs and I want them back with me. And I think I’d like to take a look at the mill.’
Bill Arkwright had specialized in hunting water witches across the nearby marsh and had used his big wolfhounds to help him in this task.
‘Would you want to take over that area again?’ I asked him.
‘Why not, Master Ward? After all, I worked the area north of Caster for years – I’m an expert at dealing with creatures from the dark that live in water. Even John Gregory deferred to me when we dealt with water witches.’
‘Judd is a good man – he’s settled into your old role now. You left the mill to John Gregory, and when he drew up his own will he left this house and the one at Anglezarke to me for as long as I should practise the trade of a spook. He gave the use of the watermill to Judd, who now thinks it’s his for life.’
‘But I’m not dead, so that part of the will is void, isn’t it? Couldn’t Judd take over the winter house up on Anglezarke Moor?’ Arkwright asked, forking a large piece of chicken into his mouth.
I shrugged. ‘I suppose he could. It would be good to have three spooks working this part of the County.’
‘Would you come with me to the mill? It might make things easier. After all, this Brinscall has never met me. I don’t think I’d take kindly to someone asking me to kneel on my hands again.’
‘We could set off tomorrow if you like,’ I suggested.
Arkwright shook his head. ‘I’ve been travelling for weeks, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to rest here for a few days first. Besides, there’s something needs doing. Could you lend me a staff while I sort out a new one?’
‘Of course – I always keep a few spares. What is it you plan to do?’ I asked.
Arkwright had been ignoring Jenny. Now he fixed his eyes on her for the first time. ‘I propose to see what this young lady is made of. It seems strange to me, a girl being trained as a spook. It would have troubled John Gregory, as well you know. But you’ve taken her on and she needs to be able to survive—’
‘Don’t refer to me as “she”!’ Jenny retorted angrily. ‘She’s the cat’s mother!’
‘Well, you’ll get your chance to pay me back, little cat – that’s if you’re good enough. Tomorrow I’ll give you a taste of what I taught your master. I’ll teach you to fight with a staff. So get ready for some whacks and bumps!’
Bill Arkwright was as good as his word. Late the next morning I watched them face each other in the garden, staffs held in the diagonal defensive position, blades retracted.
Jenny looked pale. I suspected that she was scared.
Arkwright’s expression was mean. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got, girl. You attack; I’ll defend.’
She rushed in and swung her staff at his head. He blocked it with ease. She tried again – with the same result. Then she backed off and took a deep breath, looking ready to give up – though I knew that my apprentice had more spirit than that.
Fighting with a staff was one aspect of her training that I’d neglected. It had been the same when my own master taught me. He’d given me the basics, but passed me on to Arkwright to learn the finer arts of fighting with staffs and to be toughened up.
Jenny suddenly ran at him, swinging her staff like a maniac, aiming blow after blow. Not one of them landed, despite the speed and fury with which they were delivered. By now she was red in the face, but Arkwright blocked each attack with ease. Then, almost casually, he struck back for the first time, making contact with her left arm, just above the elbow. She gave a cry and dropped her staff.
Bill Arkwright shook his head. ‘Now you’re defenceless. You must never drop your staff, little cat. And there was no need to do so then. I hit your left arm. No doubt it was numb – I probably hit the nerve; that was my intention – and your fingers couldn’t maintain their grip. But what about your right hand? I didn’t hit that arm, did I? So there was no need to let your staff fall. Never drop it. That weapon might be all that stands between you and death! Even one-handed, it can be wielded with deadly effect. Now pick it up and we’ll try again.’
He worked with Jenny for over an hour, correcting her stance and showing her how to feint and deceive an opponent before delivering a surprise blow. But he never struck her on the head; he went a lot easier on her than he had when training me. She might have ended up with a sore arm but she suffered no other cuts or bruises.
‘We might make something of you eventually, Mistress Jenny!’ Arkwright said at last with a grin. ‘I’ll give you another lesson tomorrow. Now, Master Ward, would you mind if I cut myself a length of rowan wood for a replacement staff? This one you loaned me is good enough, but I prefer something larger.’
‘Help yourself,’ I told him. ‘I’m sorry I damaged the other one. There are several rowan trees in the western garden.’
Jenny and I watched as he cut a branch and trimmed it. Then he removed the fearsome blade from the broken half of his original staff and bound it into position on the new one.
‘I pity the water witch who gets in the way of this!’ he said.
Arkwright had been ruthless in his dealing with such denizens of the dark. Unlike John Gregory, who’d put witches in pits indefinitely to keep the County safe, he’d sentenced them to only a year or two underground. Once their sentence was served, he dragged the witch out of the pit and killed her. Then, in order to ensure that she didn’t come back from the dead, he would cut out her heart and throw it to his dogs.
‘Where is John Gregory’s grave?’ Arkwright asked suddenly. ‘Is it by the local churchyard or did you put him to rest near the Wardstone?’
Priests didn’t usually allow a spook to be buried in hallowed ground; their bodies were occasionally blessed, but were always laid to rest just outside the perimeter of a cemetery. I’d done what I knew my master would have wished.
‘He was brought home. He’s buried in the western garden,’ I said. ‘Would you like to see his grave?’
Arkwright nodded, and the three of us walked towards it.
‘You’ve put the grave right next to the seat!’ he exclaimed.
‘It was his favourite spot,’ I replied.
This was where he had taught his apprentices. It had a great view of the fells rising above the trees. He would pace back and forth, teaching me all things spook’s business while I sat there taking notes.
Bill Arkwright stared down at the inscription.
HERE LIETH
JOHN GREGORY OF CHIPENDEN
THE GREATEST OF THE COUNTY SPOOKS
‘You chose the words yourself, Master Ward?’ he asked.
I nodded and caught Jenny’s eye. She looked sad. She had never met John Gregory, but she was no doubt picking up those feelings from me.
‘You chose well,’ said Arkwright. ‘Nothing truer was ever written.’
COMBAT HAS ALWAYS absorbed and enthralled me. As I fought the daemon chykes on the bloody flags in front of the tall basilica, I lost track of time. The fighting seemed to take place in a timeless present and I was lost in the joy of combat.
Much to my disappointment, it came to an end with a single peal from the great bell.
The predators immediately took flight, the tumult of their beating wings fading into the distance as they soared over the basilica to leave the sky above us empty. But the cobbles still ran with blood, and more than a dozen chykes lay there, dead or dying.
‘I know a place where we could take refuge for a while and talk,’ Thorne said. ‘It’s a safe house.’
I stared at her. ‘Alice told me that when she was here in the dark you also took her to a safe house. Is it the same one? The one where you betrayed her?’
Alice had ventured into the dark in order to retrieve the Dolorous Blade, a special weapon that could bring about the destruction of the Fiend. She had been met by Thorne, who had promised to help her.
She had lied – though she had later saved Alice’s life and had more than redeemed herself through her subsequent deeds. I’d intended to show my displeasure, but I felt sure that she could be trusted now.
Thorne looked down, unable to meet my gaze. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘it is the same one. I’m ashamed of what I did. But I hope that Alice told you the full story …’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I know that after that betrayal you proved yourself loyal and trustworthy. Take me to this safe house. We have much to discuss.’
Soon we were sitting cross-legged, facing each other beside a huge pit of murky water in a gloomy damp cellar – just as Alice had described.
A single torch flickered upon the wall; Thorne had her back to it so that her face was in darkness.
‘Do you forgive me for what I did here?’ she asked me.
‘Alice forgave you. That is enough. But she never explained the reason for your betrayal,’ I replied.
‘I was lonely and afraid. The dark’s a terrifying place and I’d have done almost anything to escape. But there was something that motivated me even more than fear and misery: my ambition; a dream that I strived to fulfil. I’d hoped to become the greatest witch assassin of the Malkin clan, surpassing even your achievements, Grimalkin. Death had taken that opportunity from me. I was offered a chance to go back to Earth; a chance to realize my ambition. For that I betrayed Alice and I’m truly sorry.’
‘Put it behind you, child. Alice told me what you did later – how you helped her; how you faced up to the daemon Beelzebub and took his thumb-bones. But to return to Earth and live one’s life again – that is an astonishing thought. Is that possible or did they lie to you? Can a dead witch really leave the dark and live on Earth again?’
Thorne shrugged. ‘I was promised that by Morwena.’
Morwena had been the most powerful of the water witches. With the help of Tom Ward, I’d defeated her and sent her soul into the dark.
‘Alice said that Morwena was slain here,’ I said.
‘Yes, she was slain for a second time here in the dark. A skelt stabbed her with its bone-tube – it went right through her neck and emerged from her mouth. Then it drained her of blood. Now she’s ceased to exist. That is the danger that faces all of us here.’
‘Did Morwena say how your return to life would be accomplished? Did she herself possess such powerful magic?’ I asked.
Thorne shook her head. ‘Morwena was strong, but even she couldn’t have managed that. Only the power of the Old Gods could achieve it. That’s what she told me, anyway. She said that it was only possible if two such gods, working together, willed it.’
‘Which of the Old Gods would she have invoked?’
‘She didn’t say, but I assume that the Fiend was one of them. I was a fool to listen to her. Even if it were possible, she’d never have kept her promise,’ Thorne said, shaking her head.
‘But what if it is possible, child? What if we could be returned to Earth?’
‘I’d love to go back too. I feel that I was cheated of my life.’
‘Then perhaps we could both return. If I made it possible, would you fight against our enemies alongside me?’
‘Of course I would – but how would we accomplish that?’ Thorne asked.
‘I can think of one god who might help – Pan,’ I replied.
Pan was the enemy of Talkus, the god of the Kobalos, and his ally, Golgoth. He might be willing to help me. But first I had to find him.
‘Do you know where in the dark the domain of Pan is?’ I asked Thorne.
‘The domains are constantly shifting. They never stay in one place for long. But given time, I could find it. First we’d have to find a way out of this domain. There’s just one gate, but it’s not always in the same location. At the moment it’s somewhere inside the basilica. It gives off a faint maroon light, which is much easier to see in the dark. Then there’s the smell – it stinks of rotten eggs. No, there’ll be no problem finding that gate, but I’ve enemies there – Bony Lizzie, for one; and of course Beelzebub will be seeking revenge too.’
‘What exactly do we face? Who else was present when you took his bones?’ I wanted to know.
‘Tusk, the abhuman, was there. He’s strong and very dangerous, but I stabbed him through the forehead with my scissors and he is no more,’ Thorne told me. ‘Old Mother Malkin was with Lizzie, but I don’t see her as a threat. I forgot – there’s another thing you need to know: magic doesn’t work inside the basilica. If it did, Beelzebub would have blasted me before I could get anywhere near him. But he does have some abilities that transcend magic – they’re part of him, and he used them to control the gate. Despite the loss of his thumb-bones he might still do so. He and Lizzie will be the main threats we face.’
‘You can leave them to me, child,’ I said. ‘If they stand in our way, they’ll wish they hadn’t. All you need to worry about is getting me to that gate so that we can escape from here. But before we go I’d like to know a few more things about the dark. When we entered this town and walked down that first cobbled street, I saw that some of the dead still bore the wounds that had caused their demise. It’s as if they carried them over into the dark. So why am I not reduced to bloody pieces, as I was when Golgoth slew me? And you – why have you still got your thumb-bones, Thorne?’
‘When I first came here, I had no thumb-bones – it made it hard for me to hold my weapons, let me tell you! Sometimes I even used my toes! But after I took Beelzebub’s thumb-bones, mine were returned to me – I’m not sure why. And I don’t know how you managed to enter the dark in one piece. Maybe Pan will tell you.’
I smiled. ‘That’s all the more reason to seek him out, then. But tell me more about these predators. How are things organized here? Is it kill or be killed? How are the prey chosen?’
‘They are usually weak souls who select themselves for that role – they are easily taken by the strong … Do you thirst, Grimalkin?’ Thorne asked me suddenly.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘My mouth is very dry.’
‘Well, the water here will do nothing but make you vomit. There is only one source of nourishment in the dark and that’s blood. Blood witches would be more at home here – even though, back on Earth, they drink only small amounts of blood during their magic rituals. Here it must be consumed in far greater quantities. On Earth we bone witches ate the same food as humans and preferred our meat cooked. Here we must drink a lot of blood. At first I found it very difficult.’
‘Is there no other way?’ I asked, wrinkling my nose in disgust at the thought.
Thorne shook her head. ‘If you don’t drink blood, you will become weak and die the second death. It’s as simple as that. Blood is also the currency here. It can be obtained in special shops and hostelries, but at a price – weak souls are employed to seek out victims or give information on their whereabouts. The strong don’t need to compromise themselves in such a way. They take blood directly from chosen victims. Drink the blood of a strong witch and you’ll acquire her strength.’
‘Then Lizzie had better not cross my path,’ I retorted. ‘If I must drink blood, it might as well be hers!’
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