The Spook’s Revenge: Book 13 (Spooks) (11 page)

Yes, I had to put all concerns about my own safety – and that of Alice – out of my mind. The shock of seeing the Fiend’s body brought to this place, and the thought of how close he was to regaining power, had jolted me to my senses. I had to focus. I had to do the right thing.

The witches had now reached the foot of the stone steps and I watched as they gathered around the cart and struggled to lift the huge coffin.

I had to be calm and think logically, keeping my emotions at bay. I had to put the image of Alice and Lukrasta out of my mind.

The witches were carrying the Fiend’s body up the steps now. The huge door was slowly opening to receive it, filling the air with the sound of metal grating on stone.

I took a pace forward and put my left hand on the hilt of my sword. I could attack and attempt to halt time. If only the head had been in their possession, I could seize it and run. But what could I do with that gigantic body? I could cut it into pieces – but would that make any difference? We’d always considered it too dangerous to destroy the head itself. The Fiend had remained bound because the two parts of his body had been kept intact but separate. According to the Spook, destroying either head, body or both might somehow free the Fiend, enabling him to return to the dark, where he would quickly gather strength and, with the aid of his supporters, return to our world more dangerous and powerful than ever.

As a warning to these supporters, Grimalkin had gouged out one of the Fiend’s eyes. She had done it in the heat of the moment; looking back, I realized it had been a very risky thing to do: it might have brought about the very thing that the Spook had feared.

I watched the witches carry the coffin through the huge door. There was another grating sound as it closed behind them.

I had done nothing.

It was over.

The Fiend had won.

I walked in a daze through the trees, away from the tower, climbing hills and stumbling down into valleys. My mind was numb. I was unable to think. I had no plan, no idea of where I was going.

I had no clear sense of how much time had passed, but eventually I found myself at the summit of a bare, rocky hill, walking through a ruined building. At first I thought it was a farmhouse, but then I noticed a stone altar and a solitary arched window, the glass broken; I realized that this had once been a chapel. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a similar window in the opposite wall, next to where the door had once been.

I looked back at the altar and gazed through the window. I had never felt so low. Terrible things had happened during my time as the Spook’s apprentice: the deaths of friends such as Bill Arkwright; threats to my life and, worse, my soul; moments of extreme terror. But somehow this seemed worse.

This was a final defeat – the end of everything.

The witches now had both parts of the Fiend in their possession. How long would it take to restore him?

What had Mab said about the Wardstone?

Creatures of the dark will be drawn to that spot – some to fight for the Fiend, others to oppose him. There’ll be witches of every type, abhumans and other dark entities. The outcome of that conflict will change the world.

But for all her skill, she’d been wrong before and might be wrong again. It could happen here and now in Wales, far from the Wardstone.

No doubt it would require some form of magical ritual. This could take days, hours, or might even be near completion now. The Fiend might come for me at any second. I might never even leave this ruined church.

I looked about me.

This was what some called a house of God. Was there a God? I wondered. A supreme creator? It seemed very unlikely to me. What was it that my master had once said . . .? That there had been times during his life as a spook when he thought he was facing the end, when it was all up with him. But at these moments he had sensed something invisible standing at his side, lending him strength. That was the nearest he had come to admitting to any kind of faith.

Well, now I felt nothing; nothing at all – I was alone, with nobody to help or advise me.

A memory suddenly came to me: my dad standing in the farmyard, stamping his feet, spattering my breeches with manure and mud, facing the Spook with both bravery and impatience – the latter because he was eager to get back to the milking; the former because most people thought spooks were scary. This was our first meeting with the Spook. An agreement had been reached, and John Gregory had given me a month’s trial as his apprentice. Little had any of us known that it would end like this.

What was it that my dad had once said?

Heaven helps those who help themselves.

Well, I’d done my best. I’d
tried
to help myself. But I wasn’t getting any assistance in return. There was nothing to guide me, nobody to even offer advice. Entities from the dark banded together, sometimes in large numbers. And what did the light have? Just a few scattered spooks, helpless against the vast dark tide that would soon sweep all goodness aside.

I stared through the window. It was dusk, and the light was beginning to fail, but I could see a village in the distance. Through the trees was a church spire; another church – either an empty shell like this one, or a place where deluded fools banded together to offer useless prayers that were never answered.

I felt a surge of bitter anger, and stepped out of the ruins onto the rocky ground. Advancing a few steps so that I could see the grey slate rooftops below the spire, I spotted something else. It must be quite a large village, I thought – a small town, even; for I could now see another church spire just behind and to the right of the first.

I went forward a few more paces. My heart was starting to beat a little faster as an understanding started to form inside my head. Then I retraced my steps, went back into the chapel and looked through the window.

Once again I could see only one church spire.

That was because the other, more distant, steeple, was hidden
directly
behind it.

They were in perfect alignment.

I spun through 180 degrees and looked back in the opposite direction through the window at the rear of the chapel. I could now see the tower, dark against the red sky above the setting sun.

Now my heart was beating even faster as I turned towards the churches once more; towards the east, where the sun would rise tomorrow, filling the world with light.

Four buildings stood in a straight line: the tower, the ruined chapel and two churches. I knew what that meant. Churches and ancient buildings were often erected in such alignments.

They were ancient tracks; lines of power. Some called them ley lines.

I was actually standing on a ley line and it ran directly through the dark tower.

I
had
been given help after all; I had been shown what I could do.

I had thought myself alone and without any support. But this ley line changed everything.

I had a powerful ally, and the ley line would make it possible for him to reach me.

I could summon the Spook’s boggart.

BOGGARTS USED LEY
lines to travel from one location to another – though they could not stray far from these ancient tracks that crisscrossed the County.

But this tower
was
on a line.

And so was the Spook’s house at Chipenden.

The Spook’s boggart had left that house after the fire, its agreement with my master at an end. But I had been sent to search for it and issue a new contract. That I had done, and it had since successfully defended the house and garden against an attack by Romanian witches. What I had not told my master was that the new agreement had been made with
me
, not him, and that it had been necessary to offer the boggart more in return for its services.

The boggart had scratched its demands on a piece of timber:

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

I’d had to think quickly, but then I’d had a moment of inspiration.

In addition to killing dark things that try to enter the garden
, I’d said,
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.

The boggart had thought for a long time before replying, and I’d wondered if it was reluctant to reveal its name to anyone. But at last it had scratched it on the wood:

Kratch
.

When I am in danger, I will call your name three times!
I had told it, and so the pact was made. I had never used its services since because I did not like to leave my master’s premises un protected. But this was an extreme situation: I felt certain that the Spook would agree with my decision to summon the boggart.

It was then, still staring at the alignment of churches, that I reconsidered my fear of imminent attack by the Fiend. I started to think things through carefully, step by step, using the brain I’d been born with.

Back on Pendle, the witches had summoned the Fiend, but they had only been able to accomplish this at a very special time, when dark magic was powerful; they had been forced to wait for Lammas, one of the four main witches’ sabbaths. Similarly, they couldn’t now simply put head and body together and reanimate him.

Our original plans for the ritual with Alice could not go ahead until a certain time of year; they too would have to wait to perform their own ceremony.

Mab was right after all.

They would have to wait for Halloween!

Circling the tower, I returned to my original position. Now I was free to choose the moment when I would attack.

I was hungry and went to check my snares. I had set four, and all of them held rabbits. I retreated to my previous spot, out of sight of the tower, and lit a fire. I abandoned my resolve to follow my master’s advice and just eat cheese before facing the dark. My plans would require energy and physical strength. So I cooked and ate one of the rabbits.

The moon was rising in the east, sending shafts of silver light down through the trees. The moment was right: I summoned the boggart.

First I just whispered his name:

‘
Kratch!
’

The air had been very still, but as I spoke, I heard a faint rustle; a breeze was stirring the fallen leaves. I called the name again – but this time much louder.

‘
Kratch!!
’

Now the wind was whipping the branches, gaining in power. The last of the crisp autumn leaves fell to join the soggy brown mounds beneath the trees.

The third time, I shouted out the name of the boggart at the top of my voice like a priest calling out to the faithful. I cared nothing for the fact that it might be heard in the tower. Now it was my enemies who would be afraid. My voice resonated through the air so that it seemed to ring like a great bell.

‘
KRATCH!
’

In response, the wind surged in from the west, howling like a banshee and almost throwing me off my feet. I staggered back and covered my eyes with my arm to protect my face from the fragments of wood, mud and stones that hurtled between the trees.

And then the gale dropped to nothing. There was silence, the air absolutely still.

Had the boggart responded? I wondered. Was it here?

The silence continued. I held my breath, listening hard.

Still there was nothing.

My heart began to sink into my boots. Had my summons failed?

But then I heard it: the very lightest of treads. Something was approaching from the west, moving very stealthily towards me.

I picked up one of the rabbits and cast it high in the air in the direction the sound was coming from.

I heard the low thud of the carcass hitting the ground. Then came a wet rending noise, as if flesh were being torn apart, followed by the crunch of bones being crushed by powerful jaws.

Now I heard footsteps approaching me again – louder now.

Pad! Pad! Pad!

Then I heard the swish of a big tail.

I tossed over the second dead rabbit. It was devoured even more quickly.

Again those heavy padding feet, coming towards where I waited; the approach of a confident and deadly creature who didn’t need to tread softly. Now only one rabbit remained, and that too I threw.

Why had I given the rabbits to the boggart?

Its reward for answering my summons would be the blood of my enemies, but the rabbits were a first offering to mark our first meeting under the new pact. I had also acted out of fear. I was afraid that the boggart might turn on me. This could well be the final approach of a predator stalking its prey, the moment before it sprang. Perhaps I was the next thing on the menu.

I was scared, and my knees shook violently because we were no longer in the Spook’s house or garden; the old pact had endured for many years, made safe by custom and repetition. Now we were out in the open; this was a new and dangerous beginning.

I was truly afraid.

All at once I heard a deep purring and felt a furry animal rubbing against my legs. At this moment the boggart felt no bigger than a normal cat. This was the shape it assumed when carrying out its agreed domestic duties. Perhaps this was what suddenly made me feel brave . . .