The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (22 page)

‘That means I’d best get back from Burnley as soon as I can to keep an eye on John Gregory,’ said Judd. ‘I’ll see if one of the local farmers will lend me a horse. But it’s agreed that you’ll all return here at least a couple of hours before the sun goes down? If I don’t make it back on time, can I rely on that?’

We gave him our promise, and I walked down into the village with Alice. I’d have liked to take the dogs with us, but that wasn’t wise – dogs and boggarts don’t mix and their lives would have been in danger.

Usually I was comfortable with Alice even when we just walked and said little. I’d never felt the need to fill the silences. But now I was ill at ease. Time was running out – it was less than five months till the ritual to destroy the Fiend had to take place. The thought of her going into the dark pained me, but even worse was the truth I’d withheld: that the sacred object
she
sought there – the third hero sword, the dagger called Dolorous – was intended to take her life.

Alice was giving me some strange glances. Had she somehow found out that she had to be sacrificed to destroy the Fiend? I wondered. Who knew what she could now achieve with her magic. I felt relieved when we reached the village.

During the war Chipenden had been visited by an enemy patrol. Houses had been burned and people killed, and the remainder of the villagers had fled. It was good to see that a lot of reconstruction had already taken place and that many houses were occupied once more. I visited the blacksmith and he promised to have the three staffs ready for collection by the afternoon. Then I popped into the grocer’s, baker’s and butcher’s shops in turn, told them that things were getting back to normal up at the Spook’s house, and to please have our usual orders ready by the end of the day.

Once that was accomplished, we turned our attention to the Spook’s next instruction. I had to find the boggart, and somehow persuade it to come and guard the Chipenden house and garden once more.

TRUSTING THE SPOOK’S
intuition that we would find the boggart somewhere along the ley-line he’d indicated, Alice and I started east of Chipenden and headed directly south of the Spook’s house.

It was a sunny spring morning, and the walk was pleasant, though I still felt a degree of discomfort in Alice’s company. We crossed the small meandering river twice, splashing across the fords, and approached the first likely location of the boggart: an old barn which still had a roof, even though it was sagging ominously.

‘Ain’t been used for some time, that,’ said Alice. ‘Looks
promising
to me. It’s a likely enough place for a boggart to have made its home.’

‘Then let’s take a closer look,’ I suggested.

We strolled around the building and then went inside. There were birds nesting under the eaves, but apart from their chirping all was silent. I had no sense that something from the dark was nearby.

We continued south and eventually came to a small cottage, which I remembered from my last walk down the ley. It had been occupied by a farm labourer, his wife and child, but since then the war had intervened. The doors and windows had gone and the cottage was a shell, the roof likely to collapse inwards the next time a storm blew in from the west.

I led the way inside, glancing up nervously at the blackened beams. Again I had no intimation that the boggart had made its home here – but I found something else. There was a faint shimmer in the corner, and the ghost of a child appeared, a girl of no more than five. She was wearing a white dress, but it was splattered with blood. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she held out her arms and called piteously for her mam and dad.

It could be that her parents had died in the fire or been murdered by the soldiers. But she had come back to the place where she’d been happy, searching for the mam and dad who had cherished and protected her until that terrible day when war had come to this little cottage.

‘Oh! Help her, Tom. Help her – please!’ Alice cried, gripping my hand tightly, tears running down her own cheeks. Alice might be using her witch powers more and more, but her heart
was
certainly in the right place. It seemed to me at that moment that she was a long, long way from becoming a malevolent witch.

I approached the ghost, knelt down and brought my face level with hers. ‘Listen to me,’ I said gently. ‘Please stop your crying and listen carefully. I’m here to help you. It’ll be all right, it really will.’

She just carried on crying bitterly, so I tried again.

‘Wouldn’t you like to be with your mam and dad again?’ I asked. ‘Wouldn’t you like to be with them for ever and ever? I can tell you what to do. It’s easy.’

The ghostly child rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘How?’ she asked; her bottom lip still wobbled but new hope now lit up her face.

‘All you have to do is think of some happy memory from the past.’

‘Which one? Which one? There were so many. We were happy before the soldiers came,’ she replied. ‘Happy, happy, happy – we were happy all the time.’

‘There’s got to be a really special one. Think hard. Isn’t there a very special memory, better than all the rest?’ I insisted.

The child nodded. ‘It was when Mam gave me a white dress for my birthday. Dad carried me on his shoulders!’

‘Is that the dress?’ I asked. ‘Is it the one you’re wearing now?’

‘Yes! Yes! Mam said I looked pretty, like a princess, and Dad laughed and spun me round and round until I grew dizzy.’

As the child laughed at the memory, the bloodstains faded and the dress became so white that my eyes hurt.

‘Can you see your mam and dad?’ I asked gently. ‘Look into the light!’

Tears rolled down her cheeks again, but she was smiling – they were tears of happiness. I knew that her parents were there waiting for her, holding out their arms and beckoning her forward.

The little girl turned her back on me and began to walk away. Soon she had faded and disappeared.

Alice and I strolled on without speaking. I felt happy, and the tension between us seemed to have evaporated. Sometimes it was really good to be a spook’s apprentice – I felt a real sense of achievement.

Ten minutes later we reached the wood-mill. As the Spook had commented, boggarts were indeed creatures of habit. It had once been comfortable here, and there was a good chance that it had returned.

The main door of the mill had fallen off its hinges and the workshop was deserted. There were no signs of violence or wanton destruction. The mill had simply been abandoned – probably when news came of the approach of the enemy patrol that had eventually attacked Chipenden. And the workers hadn’t returned. The County was still a long way from getting back to normal.

As I approached the long workbench, a sudden chill ran the length of my spine – I knew that something from the dark was approaching. The next moment I heard purring, a noise so loud that it made the wood files and chisels vibrate in their racks. It was the cat boggart, and the fact that it was purring had got us
off
to a good start. Clearly it remembered me. So, wasting no time, calling out in a clear firm voice, I began to negotiate.

‘My master, John Gregory, asks that you return to Chipenden. The house is being repaired and it already has a new roof. We thank you for your work in the past and hope that our association can continue into the future on the same terms as before.’

There was a long silence, but then I heard the
scritch-scratching
of the cat boggart. It was using its invisible claws to mark its reply on a huge piece of timber propped up against the wall. When the sounds ceased, I stepped forward and read its answer.

Gregory is old and weary. The future belongs to you. We make the pact
.

I didn’t know how my master would feel about that and I hesitated.

‘Agree to it, Tom!’ Alice insisted. ‘You
are
the future: soon you’ll be the spook at Chipenden. Ain’t no doubt about it – the boggart is talking sense!’

In response to her words the purring began again. I shrugged. The important thing was to get the boggart back to Chipenden to help fight off the imminent attack.

‘I agree!’ I called out. ‘The pact will be between you and me.’

Again there came the
scritch-scratch
of the invisible claws on the wood. When I read what it had written, I was filled with dismay.

My price is higher this time. You must give me more
.

The Spook had been right. The boggart was no longer satisfied with the terms of the previous pact. I thought quickly. What more could I offer? Suddenly I had a moment of inspiration. The boggart could travel down ley-lines, and plenty of them ran through the house; they led off in most directions.

‘In addition to killing dark things that try to enter the garden,’ I told it, ‘I have another task for you. Sometimes when I hunt out creatures of the dark I find myself in extreme danger; then I will summon you to fight by my side. You will be able to slay my enemies and drink their blood! What is your name? I must know your name so that I can call you!’

It was a long time before the boggart’s claws scratched on the wood again. Perhaps it was reluctant to tell its name to anyone? But at last it was revealed:

Kratch!

‘When I am in danger, I will call your name three times!’ I said.

Again I heard the deep purring. But then I realized there was another condition I had to impose. ‘In addition to what is already protected within the garden, there are three wolfhounds. They must not be touched. They are our allies. Nor must you harm guests that I invite into the garden. Is it agreed?’

The purring deepened, and again came the scratching on the timber:

How long will the pact endure?

The answer came straight into my head. I didn’t even have to think. It was as if someone else was speaking for me.

‘The pact will endure until three days after my death. During that time you must protect my allies and drink the blood of my enemies. After that you will be free to go!’

Suddenly the boggart appeared before us in the gloom, taking on the appearance of a big ginger tom-cat. There was a vertical scar across one blind eye – the wound it had suffered fighting off the attack of the Bane, I assumed. It moved forward and rubbed itself against my leg, purring all the while – then suddenly disappeared.

‘You’ve done it, Tom!’ Alice cried.

I smiled at her, feeling pleased with myself. ‘Well, Alice, we can’t be sure until we get back to the house, but I’m certainly hopeful!’

‘Would you really summon the boggart to help you, Tom?’ Alice asked. ‘That would leave the house unprotected.’

‘That’s right,’ I agreed. ‘I’d only do so if my life was in great danger. And I certainly wouldn’t summon it to face Siscoi.’

We set off for the village right away, and collected the staffs from the blacksmith. As usual, he’d done an excellent job and I paid him on the spot. Then I visited the three shops to collect our provisions – a good supply of vegetables, bacon, ham and eggs, not to mention bread fresh from the oven. I carried the heavy hessian sack full of food and Alice carried the three staffs.

I should have felt safe close to Chipenden but I was uneasy. We would surely have been followed from Todmorden; the Fiend’s servants must be getting nearer.

As we walked up the lane that led to the house, we spotted a figure up ahead and my heart lurched. But then I saw that it was a tall woman carrying a sack. Grimalkin! The witch assassin was leaning on the gate. Over her shoulder was the leather sack containing the Fiend’s head – she never let it out of her sight. She smiled, showing her pointy teeth.

‘You have succeeded,’ she said. ‘I went off sniffing for our enemies, but on my return I heard a warning growl as soon as I set foot in the garden. The boggart is back and hungry for blood! I don’t think I’m very welcome.’

We climbed over the farm gate and walked up the hill until we reached the perimeter of the garden. There we paused and I called out into the trees: ‘By my side is my guest, Grimalkin. Allow her to cross the threshold safely and grant her the same courtesies as you would me!’