Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin (26 page)

At last I come to a halt in a small clearing and await their attack. They encircle me and close in rapidly, moving towards me through the trees. They are eager to reach me. Tighter and tighter the circle becomes, and I hear feet drumming on the ground, getting louder and louder. Within seconds the first of them will burst out of the cover of the trees, and into the circular clearing where I stand.

I am ready.

This is the killing ground.

And far beyond the circle of blades, the kretch is still waiting, the mage at its side.

Oh, Mr Wolf! Soon it will be your turn!

The bravest witches come in hard and fast. They die first. I whirl and cut and spin, slicing and stabbing until the air is filled with the shrieks, curses and screams of my enemies; until the grass is slick with their blood.

Others press in behind them: Lisa Dugdale, Jenny Croston
and
Maggie Lunt. These are the three from Pendle who have lashed blades to long sticks. They seek to jab and stab from a distance – with less risk to themselves. These are the ones who cut and slew Wynde, the lamia, when she lay helpless with a broken wing in the jaws of the kretch; these are the cowards who tried to pierce the armour of the knight when he was down and at their mercy. So I find it satisfying to pay them back in kind.

So these I maim rather than kill outright. They limp away, hoping to reach safety. I will hunt them down afterwards. It will be something to savour.

My enemies fall back and begin to flee. Now there is only the mage and the kretch to deal with. Bowker steps forward, the leather sack on his shoulder, and points the small rodent skull at my head. He chants, and something invisible but deadly surges towards me; I hear a ringing in my ears.

I stagger and almost fall, and suddenly I am weak and defenceless. Bowker laughs and comes towards me, the weapon still pointing at my head, a blade readied in his other hand.

‘It was I who took the bones of the girl, Grimalkin! And now I will take yours!’ he cries.

He is less than ten steps away when I rally, drawing upon the magic that Alice has given me. It is stronger than the weapon he has used against me; stronger than anything he has at his disposal. I show my teeth, draw a dagger from its sheath and hurl it towards him. It buries itself in his leg and he drops to one knee. Seeing death in my eyes, he turns and flees,
limping
towards the trees, leaving a trail of blood on the grass. He still has the Fiend’s head but will not get far. Soon he will be mine.

‘Mr Wolf!’ I cry. ‘Now it is your turn! I am here! I am Grimalkin! Now we fight to the death!’

The kretch bounds towards me, forelimbs outstretched, eager to rend the flesh from my bones. It rears up, towering over me, and slashes at me with its talons.

I whirl and spin, avoiding their sharp poisonous tips, and the hilt of my blade smashes hard into its mouth, making of it a bloody ruin. It reminds me of what I did to the Fiend, and I smile.

Oh, Mr Wolf! What big teeth you had!

I laugh as it shakes its head and the shattered teeth fall from its mouth. Some of them are red with blood, and it is enraged as I spring away; now it is snarling and spinning like a mad dog trying to catch its elusive tail. But it is slow, so very slow, and I am lithe and nimble. We dance together; the dance of death that it promised me.

Oh, Mr Wolf! What big eyes you had!

My words are true because my blades have taken them both, stabbing faster than a blink, straight in under the bone shields. Now the kretch is blind again. This time it will not be given the chance to recover. This time only death awaits it.

I stab and cut as if in a frenzy. But each blow is measured; each slicing of its flesh calculated and precise – until it is weak and the ground is soaked in its blood.

Oh, Mr Wolf! What a big heart you had!

Now I hold the heart of the kretch in my hands. At first it continues to beat, but soon it is still and begins to cool. I cut it into tiny pieces and scatter the bloody fragments on the ground. Finally I dismember the body and scatter it to the wind.

The crows will feast well.

But its thumb-bones I keep. Later they will join the others that I wear around my neck.

THE KRETCH IS
dead, and now I keep my promise:

the ones who slew Thorne must all die too.

So I begin the hunt.

I break the back of Lisa Dugdale.

I hang her from an oak by her toes;

I drain her blood;

I take her bones.

I drown Jenny Croston in a deep cold pond.

I hold her head underwater while her limbs thrash;

I drain her blood;

I take her bones.

Maggie Lunt begs like a frightened child.

I kill her quickly; my knife splits her heart;

I drain her blood;

I take her bones.

Finally I catch and slay Bowker, the mage;

I take his bones;

I drain his blood.

Thus Thorne is avenged –

For who is left to say:

‘We took her bones’?

None, because all are dead,

And I took theirs.

I am Grimalkin.

I SIT CROSS-LEGGED
, sheltering by a hawthorn hedge, and remove the Fiend’s head from the leather sack. I place it on the grass before me.

It is a sorry sight indeed, and I smile. They have not attempted to unpick the stitches from his remaining eye, but the green apple and rose thorns have been plucked from his mouth. The head groans, showing the yellow stumps of teeth.

‘I win again!’ I cry. ‘Despite all that your followers attempted, you are still in my power. The kretch and your servants are dead!’

The Fiend does not reply. Even when I prod the lid of the stitched eye hard with a stick, it does not flicker. The head is cold, still and silent, almost as if the Fiend has deserted it and returned to the dark. But that cannot be because he is trapped within it.

He does not reply because, for now, he is defeated. I have won, his followers are slain, and he cannot bear to confront the victor. I have damaged him badly and I feel deeply satisfied.

I no longer have an apple or thorns at my disposal; instead I use a tangle of nettles and hawthorn twigs, ramming them into the Fiend’s mouth with considerable force. Then, with a smile of triumph, I thrust the head back into the sack.

This stage of our battle against the Fiend’s servants has ended successfully. So now it is vital that Tom Ward travels to Malkin Tower to study what his mother has bequeathed to him. I will offer him all the help he needs so that he can discover the means by which we can finally destroy the Fiend!

But the closer we come to achieving that aim, the greater the danger will become. No doubt soon there will be another threat.

A witch cannot scry her own death but she can do it for another. Recently I have foreseen a new threat to Alice. The mirror went dark so it allows a little hope. But I am deeply concerned. Four of us: Themas Ward, John Gregory, Alice and I are bound together in this enterprise.

I fear that not all of us will survive.

About the Author

Joseph Delaney lives in Lancashire. His home is in the middle of boggart territory and his village has a boggart called the Hall Knocker which was laid to rest under the step of a house near the church.