They were blocking the pavement and I tried to ease my way through as carefully as possible. I kept apologizing, desperate to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes, but eventually the people became so thickly packed that I had to come to a halt and wait with them.
I didn’t wait long. Sounds of applause and cheers had suddenly erupted to my right. Above them I heard the clip-clop of approaching hooves. A large procession was moving towards the cathedral, the first two riders dressed in black hats and cloaks and wearing swords at their hips. Behind them came more riders, these armed with daggers and huge cudgels, ten, twenty, fifty, until eventually one man appeared riding alone on a gigantic white stallion.
He wore a black cloak, but underneath it expensive chain mail was visible at neck and wrists and the sword at his hip had a hilt encrusted with rubies. His boots were of the very finest leather and probably worth more than a farm labourer earned in a year.
The rider’s clothes and bearing marked him out as a leader, but even if he’d been dressed in rags, there would have been no doubt about it. He had very blond hair, tumbling from beneath a wide-brimmed red hat, and eyes so blue they put a summer’s sky to shame. I was fascinated by his face.
It was almost too handsome to be a man’s, but it was strong at the same time, with a jutting chin and a determined forehead. Then I looked again at the blue eyes and saw the cruelty glaring from them.
He reminded me of a knight I’d once seen ride past our farm, when I was a young lad. He hadn’t so much as glanced our way. To him we didn’t exist. Well, that’s what my dad said anyway. Dad also said that the man was noble, that he could tell by looking at him that he came from a family that could trace its ancestors back for generations, all of them rich and powerful.
At the word ‘noble’ my dad spat into the mud and told me that I was lucky to be a farmer’s lad with an honest day’s work in front of me.
This man riding through Priestown was also clearly noble and had arrogance and authority written all over his face. To my shock and dismay I realized that I must be looking at the Quisitor, for behind him was a big open cart pulled by two shire horses and there were people standing in the back bound together with chains.
Mostly they were women but there were a couple of men too. The majority of them looked as if they hadn’t eaten properly for a long time. They wore filthy clothes and many had clearly been beaten. All were covered in bruises and one woman had a left eye that looked like a rotten tomato. Some of the women were wailing hopelessly, tears running down their cheeks. One screeched again and again at the top of her voice that she was innocent. But to no avail. They were all captives, soon to be tried and burned.
A young woman suddenly darted towards the cart, reaching up towards one of the male prisoners and trying desperately to pass him an apple. Perhaps she was a relative of the prisoner - maybe a daughter.
To my horror, the Quisitor simply turned his horse and rode her down. One moment she was holding out the apple; the next she was on her side on the cobbles howling in pain. I saw the cruel expression on his face. He’d enjoyed hurting her. As the cart trundled past, followed by an escort of even more armed riders, the crowd’s cheers turned to howls of abuse and cries of ‘Burn them all!’
It was then that I saw the girl chained amongst the other prisoners. She was no older than me and her eyes were wide and frightened. Her black hair was streaked across her forehead with the rain, which was dribbling from her nose and the end of her chin like tears. I looked at the black dress she was wearing, then glanced down at her pointy shoes, hardly able to believe what I was seeing.
It was Alice. And she was a prisoner of the Quisitor.
Chapter 5
The Funeral
My head was whirling with what I’d witnessed. It was several months since I’d last seen Alice. Her aunt, Bony Lizzie, was a witch the Spook and I had dealt with, but Alice, unlike the rest of her family, wasn’t really bad. In fact she was probably the closest I’d ever come to having a friend, and it was thanks to her that a few months back I’d managed to destroy Mother Malkin - the most evil witch in the County.
No, Alice had just been brought up in bad company. I couldn’t let her be burned as a witch.
Somehow I had to find a way to rescue her, but at that moment I didn’t have the slightest clue how it could be done. I decided that as soon as the funeral was over, I’d have to try and persuade the Spook to help.
And then there was the Quisitor. What terrible timing that our visit to Priestown should coincide with his arrival. The Spook and I were in grave danger. Surely now my master wouldn’t stay here after the funeral. A huge part of me hoped he’d want to leave right away and not face the Bane. But I couldn’t leave Alice behind to die.
When the cart had gone by, the crowd surged forward and began to follow the Quisitor’s procession.
Jammed in shoulder to shoulder, I’d little choice but to move with them. The cart continued past the cathedral and halted outside a big three-storey house with mullioned windows. I assumed that it was the presbytery - the priests’ house - and that the prisoners were about to be tried there. They were taken down from the cart and dragged inside but I was too far away to see Alice properly. There was nothing I could do but I’d have to think of something quickly before the burning, which was bound to take place soon.
Sadly, I turned away and pushed through the crowd until I reached the cathedral and Father Gregory’s funeral. The building had big buttresses and tall, pointy stained-glass windows. Then, remembering what the Spook had told me, I glanced upwards at the large stone gargoyle above the main door.
This was a representation of the original form of the Bane, the shape it was slowly trying to return to as it grew stronger down there in the catacombs. The body, covered in scales, was crouching with tense, knotted muscles, long sharp talons gripping the stone lintel. It looked ready to leap down.
I’ve seen some terrifying things in my time but I’d never seen anything uglier than that huge head. It had an elongated chin that curved upwards almost as far as its long nose, and wicked eyes that seemed to follow me as I walked towards it. Its ears were strange too, and wouldn’t have been out of place on a big dog or even a wolf. Not something to face in the darkness of the catacombs!
Before I went in, I glanced back desperately towards the presbytery once more, wondering if there was any real hope of rescuing Alice.
The cathedral was almost empty so I found a place near the back. Close by, a couple of old ladies were kneeling in prayer with bowed heads, and an altar boy was busy lighting candles.
I had plenty of time to look around. The cathedral seemed even bigger on the inside, with a high roof and huge wooden beams; even the slightest cough seemed to echo for ever. There were three aisles - the middle one, which led right up to the altar steps, was wide enough to take a horse and cart. This place was grand all right: every statue in sight was gilded and even the walls were covered in marble. It was worlds away from the little church in Horshaw where the Spook’s brother had gone about his business.
At the front of the central aisle stood Father Gregory’s open coffin, with a candle at each corner. I’d never seen such candles in my life. Each one, set in a big brass candlestick, was taller than a man.
People had started to drift into the church. They entered in ones and twos and, like me, selected pews close to the back. I kept looking for the Spook but there was no sign of him yet.
I couldn’t help glancing around for evidence of the Bane. I certainly didn’t feel its presence, but perhaps a creature so powerful would be able to feel mine. What if the rumours were true? What if it did have the strength to take on a physical form and was sitting here in the congregation! I looked about nervously but then relaxed when I remembered what the Spook had told me. The Bane was bound to the catacombs far below, so for now, surely, I was safe.
Or was I? Its mind was very strong, my master had said, and it could reach up into the presbytery or the cathedral to influenc
e and corrupt the priests. Maybe at this very moment it was trying to get inside my head!
I looked up, horrified, and caught the eye of a woman returning to her seat after paying her last respects to Father Gregory. I recognized her instantly as his weeping housekeeper and she knew me in the same moment. She stopped at the end of my pew.
‘Why were you so late?’ she demanded in a raised whisper. ‘If you’d come when I first sent for you he’d still be alive today.’
‘I did my best,’ I said, trying not to attract too much attention to us.
‘Sometimes your best ain’t good enough then, is it?’ she said. ‘The Quisitor’s right about your lot, you’re nowt but trouble and deserve all that’s coming to you.’
At the Quisitor’s name I started but lots of people had begun to stream in, all of them wearing black cassocks and coats. Priests - dozens of them! I’d never thought to see so many in one place at a time. It was as if all the clergymen in the whole world had come together for the funeral of old Father Gregory.
But I knew that wasn’t true and that they were only the ones who lived in Priestown - and maybe a few from the surrounding villages and towns. The housekeeper said nothing more and hurriedly returned to her pew.
Now I was really afraid. Here I was, sitting in the cathedral, just above the catacombs that were home to the most fearsome creature in the County, at a time when the Quisitor was visiting - and I’d been recognized. I desperately wanted to get as far from that place as possible and looked anxiously around for any sign of my master, but I couldn’t see him. I was just deciding that I should probably leave, when suddenly the big doors of the church were flung back wide and a long procession entered. There was no escape.
At first I thought the man at the head was the Quisitor for he had similar features. But he was older and I remembered the Spook saying that the Quisitor had an uncle who was the bishop of Priestown; I realized it must be him.
The ceremony began. There was a lot of singing and we stood up, sat down and knelt endlessly. No sooner had we settled in one position than we had to move again. Now if the funeral service had been in Greek I might have understood a bit more of what was going on because my mam taught me that language when I was little. But most of Father Gregory’s funeral was in Latin. I could follow some of it but it made me realize I’d have to work a lot harder at my lessons.
The bishop spoke of Father Gregory being in Heaven, saying that he deserved to be there after all the good work he’d done. I was a little surprised that he made no mention of how Father Gregory had died, but I suppose the priests wanted to keep that quiet. They were probably reluctant to admit that his exorcism had failed.
At last, after almost an hour, the funeral service was over and the procession left the church, this time with six priests carrying the coffin. The four big priests holding the candles had the harder job because they were staggering under their weight. It was only as the last one passed by, walking behind the coffin, that I noticed the triangular base of the big brass candlestick.
On each of its three faces was a vivid representation of the ugly gargoyle that I’d seen above the cathedral door. And although it was probably caused by the flickering of the flame, once again its eyes seemed to follow me as the priest carried the candle slowly by.
All the priests filed out to join the procession and most of the people at the back followed them, but I stayed inside the church for a long time, wanting to keep clear of the housekeeper.
I was wondering what to do. I hadn’t seen the Spook and I had no idea where he was staying or how I was supposed to meet up with him again. I needed to warn him about the Quisitor - and now the housekeeper.
Outside, the rain had stopped and the yard at the front of the cathedral was empty. Glancing to my right, I could just see the tail of the procession disappearing round the back of the cathedral where I supposed the graveyard must be.
I decided to go the other way, through the front gate and out into the street, but I was in for a shock.
Across the road two people were having a heated conversation. More precisely, most of the heat was coming from an angry, red-faced priest with a bandaged hand. The other man was the Spook.
They both seemed to notice me at the same time. The Spook gestured with his thumb, signalling me to start walking right away. I did as I was told and my master followed me, keeping to the opposite side of the road.
The priest called out after him, ‘Think on, John, before it’s too late!’
I risked a glance back and saw that the priest hadn’t followed us but seemed to be staring at me. It was hard to be sure, but I thought he suddenly seemed far more interested in me than in the Spook.
We walked downhill for several minutes before the ground levelled out. At first there weren’t many people around but the streets soon became narrower and much busier, and after changing direction a couple of times we came to the flagged market. It was a big, bustling square, full of stalls, which were sheltered by wooden frames draped with grey waterproof awnings. I followed the Spook into the crowd, at times not far from his heels. What else could I do? It would have been easy to lose him in a place like that.
There was a large tavern at the northern edge of the market with empty benches outside and the Spook headed straight for it. At first I thought he was going in and wondered if we were going to buy lunch. If he intended to leave because of the Quisitor, there’d be no need to fast. But instead he turned into a narrow, cobbled blind alley, led me to a low stone wall and wiped the nearest section with his sleeve. When he’d got most of the beads of water off, he sat himself down and gestured that I should do the same.
I sat down and looked around. The alley was deserted and the walls of warehouses hemmed us in on three sides. There were few windows and they were cracked and smeared with grime so at least we were out of the way of prying eyes.
The Spook was out of breath with walking and this gave me a chance to get the first word in.
The Quisitor’s here,’ I told him.
The Spook nodded. ‘Aye, lad, he’s here all right. I was standing on the opposite side of the road but you were too busy gawping at the cart to notice me.’
‘But didn’t you see her? Alice was in the cart—’
‘Alice? Alice who?’
‘Bony Lizzie’s niece. We have to help her ...’
As I mentioned before, Bony Lizzie was a witch we’d dealt with in the spring. Now the Spook had her imprisoned in a pit, back in his garden in Chipenden.
‘Oh, that Alice. Well, you’d best forget her, lad, because there’s nothing to be done. The Quisitor has at least fifty armed men with him.’
‘But it’s not fair,’ I said, hardly able to believe that he could stay so calm. ‘Alice isn’t a witch.’
‘Little in this life is fair,’ the Spook replied. The truth is, none of them were witches. As you well know, a real witch would have sniffed the Quisitor coming from miles away.’
‘But Alice is my friend. I can’t leave her to die!’ I protested, feeling the anger rising inside me.
‘This is no time for sentiment. Our job is to protect people from the dark, not to get distracted by pretty girls.’
I was furious - especially as I knew the Spook himself had once been distracted by a pretty girl - and that one was a witch. ‘Alice helped save my family from Mother Malkin, remember!’
‘And why was Mother Malkin free in the first place, lad, answer me that!’
I hung my head in shame.
‘Because you got yourself mixed up with that girl,’ he continued, ‘and I don’t want it happening again.
Especially not here in Priestown, with the Quisitor breathing down our necks. You’ll be putting your own life in danger - and mine. And keep your voice down. We don’t want to attract any unwelcome attention.’
I looked about me. But for us, the alley was deserted. A few people could be seen passing the entrance but they were some distance away and didn’t so much as glance in our directi
on. Beyond them I could see the rooftops at the far side of the market square and, rising above the chimneypots, the cathedral steeple. But when I spoke again, I did lower my voice.
‘What’s the Quisitor doing here anyway?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t you say that he did his work down south and only came north when he was sent for?’
“That’s mostly true but sometimes he mounts an expedition up north to the County and even beyond.
Turns out that for the last few weeks he’s been sweeping the coast, picking up the poor dregs of humanity he had chained up in that cart.’
I was angry that he’d said Alice was one of the dregs because I knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t the right time to continue the argument though, so I kept my peace.
‘But we’ll be safe enough in Chipenden,’ continued the Spook. ‘He’s never yet ventured up towards the fells.’
‘Are we going home now then?’ I asked.
‘No, lad, not yet. I told you before, I’ve got unfinished business in this town.’
My heart sank and I looked towards the alley entrance uneasily. People were still scurrying past, going about their business, and I could hear some stallholders calling out the price of their wares. But although there was a lot of noise and bustle, we were thankfully out of sight. Despite that, I still felt uneasy. We were supposed to be keeping our distance from each other. The priest outside the cathedral had known the Spook. The housekeeper knew me. What if someone else walked down the alley and recognized us and we were both arrested? Many priests from County parishes would be in town and they’d know the Spook by sight. The only good news was that at the moment they were probably all still in the churchyard.
‘That priest you were talking to before, who was he? He seemed to know you so won’t he tell the Quisitor you’re here?’ I asked, wondering if anywhere was really safe. For all I knew that red-faced priest outside the cathedral could even direct the Quisitor to Chipenden. ‘Oh, and there’s something else.
Spook's Curse Page 5
