Joseph Delaney

by The Last Apprentice: The Spook's Tale;Other Horrors

  I mean, how long would a spook’s apprentice survive alone in the shadow of that brooding hill? Seventh son of a seventh son, he is. Love his bones, they would. Cut ’em out just before dawn. Ain’t any bones better than Tom’s, that’s for sure.

  So I traveled on alone while Tom went back to Chipenden to tell the Spook what had happened. Went east to Pendle. Told you I’d enemies there—and that’s true—but I got friends, too, though precious few. And the best friend I got in that hag-ridden place is my aunt, Agnes Sowerbutts. Got a soft spot for Agnes, I have. She’d have brought me up but for Bony Lizzie.

  I remember the night that Lizzie came for me. I like to think I was upset, but I don’t remember crying. My mam and dad had been cold and dead in the earth for three days, and I still hadn’t managed to shed a single tear. Wasn’t for want of trying. I tried to remember the good times, I really did. And there were a few, even though they fought like cat and dog and clouted me even harder than they hit each other. I mean, you should be upset, shouldn’t you? It’s your own mam and dad, and they’ve just died, so you should be able to squeeze out one tear at least.

  There was a bad storm that night, forks of lightning sizzling across the sky and crashes of thunder shaking the walls of the cottage and rattling the pots and pans. But that was nowt compared to what Lizzie did. There was a hammering at the door fit to wake the rotting dead, and when Agnes drew back the bolt, Bony Lizzie strode into the room, her black hair matted with rain, water streaming from her cape onto the stone flags. Agnes was scared, but she stood her ground, placing herself between me and Lizzie.

  “Leave the girl alone!” Agnes said calmly, trying to be brave. “Her home is with me now. She’ll be well looked after, don’t you worry.”

  Lizzie’s first response was a sneer. They say there’s a family resemblance. That I’m the spitting image of her. But I could never have twisted my face the way she did that night. It was enough to turn the milk sour or send the cat shrieking up the chimney as if the Devil himself was reaching for its tail.

  “The girl belongs to me, Sowerbutts,” Lizzie said, her voice cold and quiet, filled with malice. “We share the same dark blood. I can teach her what she has to know. I’m the one she needs.”

  “Alice needn’t be a witch like you!” Agnes retorted. “Her mam and dad weren’t witches, so why should she follow your dark path? Leave her be. Leave the girl with me and get about your business.”

  “She’s the blood of a witch inside her and that’s enough!” Lizzie hissed angrily. “You’re just an outsider and not fit to raise the girl.”

  It wasn’t true. Agnes was a Deane, all right, but she’d married a good man from Whalley. An ironmonger. When he died, she’d returned to where the Deane witch clan made its home.

  “I’m her aunt, and I’ll be a mother to her now,” Agnes retorted. She still spoke bravely, but her face was white and I could see her plump chin wobbling, her hands fluttering and trembling with fear.

  Next thing, Lizzie stamped her left foot. It was as easy as that. In the twinkling of an eye, the fire died in the grate, the candles flickered and went out, and the whole room became instantly dark, cold, and terrifying. I heard Agnes scream with fear, and then I was screaming myself and desperate to get out. I would have run through the door, jumped through a window, or even scrabbled my way up the chimney. I’d have done anything, just to escape.

  I did get out, but with Lizzie at my side. She just seized me by the wrist and dragged me into the night. It was no use trying to resist. She was too strong and she held me tight, her nails digging into my skin. I belonged to her now, and there was no way she was ever going to let me go. And that night she began my training as a witch. It was the start of all my troubles.

  I’d only seen Agnes once since that awful night, but I knew I’d be welcome at her house now as I returned to Pendle. In fact, no sooner had I walked down through the darkness of the trees than her door opened wide and she stood there, her smile brighter than the beeswax candles that illuminated her rooms. Uses a mirror for scrying, Agnes does, and she’d seen me coming.

  “Come in, Alice girl, and warm your bones!” she called out in her gruff but kindly voice. “It’s good to see you again. Just sit yourself down by the fire and I’ll boil you up some tasty broth.”

  While Agnes busied herself, I sat in her rocking chair facing the warm fire, my eyes drawn upward to the rows of shelves that I remembered so well. She was a healer, and the shelves were full of pots and jars. There were also leather pouches tied with string containing the blends of herbs and potions she used to practice her craft.

  Soon I was sipping delicious hot broth while my aunt seated herself on a stool by the fire. It was a long time before she spoke. “What brings you to Pendle again, girl?” she asked cautiously. “Is Lizzie nearby?”

  I shook my head. “No, Agnes. Ain’t you heard? No need to worry yourself about Lizzie. Trapped in a pit in Old Gregory’s garden at Chipenden, she is. Stay there till she rots! Best place for her.”

  So I explained how I’d befriended Tom Ward and was now staying at the Spook’s Chipenden house, helping to make copies of the precious books in his library. I told her about the theft of Tom’s boxes and the kidnapping of his family—Jack, Ellie, and their young child.

  “Thought you might like to help me, aunt. I’ve no clue where they’ve been taken and I don’t know where else to turn. Thought you might scry ’em for me with your special mirror.”

  Without a word, Agnes went and fetched her scrying mirror from the cupboard. It was small but set in a brass frame with a heavy base. Then she blew out all her candles but one, which she set just to the left of it. Soon she was muttering incantations under her breath, and the glass flickered to brightness. She was searching for Tom’s family. Images began to form… . .

  I glimpsed a dark stone wall. Curved, it was. We were looking up at it. Not much doubt, was there? We were looking at Malkin Tower. Agnes was using the surface of the moat to see it. Water’s as good as a mirror if you’re skilled like Agnes. Quickly a new image flashed across the mirror: the arched ceiling of a dark, dank dungeon with dripping water. Then a weary pain-racked face filled the glass, eyes closed. It was Ellie!

  Her hands reached toward us, and I realized that we were peering up at her from a bowl of water. The image distorted and fragmented. She was dabbing water onto her face. Then the mirror darkened, and Agnes gave a sigh and turned toward me.

  “Was that Ellie, girl?”

  I nodded.

  “Just used the mirror to be sure,” Agnes said. “But I suspected the Malkins from the start. You’ve no chance of getting them out of that tower alive. Best get yourself away from Pendle, girl. It’s more dangerous than it’s ever been. Go while you’re still able to breathe!”

  I spent the rest of the night with Agnes. We chatted about old times, and she told me what had been happening more recently. How the Mouldheels were growing in strength and had a new coven leader, a girl witch called Mab. Apparently this Mab could peer into the future so well that, to counteract her power, the Malkins and Deanes had called a truce and created an evil creature called Tibb using dark magic. Tibb was a seer and could also see things at a distance. Agnes reckoned that was how they’d found Tom’s boxes.

  I spent the night in Agnes’s back room, and at dawn I headed for Malkin Tower. Knew I couldn’t do much on my own, but I thought I might as well just sniff around a bit before pushing on to the church at Downham, where I’d meet up with Tom and Old Gregory. Might find out something useful. It was worth a try. But then, as I circled through Crow Wood, skirting Bareleigh to the north, the sun dappling the tree trunks, I saw a girl ahead, sitting on a stump. Staring at me, she was. Sniffed her out right away and knew she was a witch.

  As I got nearer, her feet told me more. Barefooted, so she had to be a Mouldheel. Last of the three main clans to settle in Pendle, they were. Before that they were nomads. Called “stink feet” by some and, later, “moldy heels.”

>   She didn’t look much older than me and was certainly no bigger. So why should I run? I kept walking toward her, ready to fight if necessary. She had pale hair that hung down beyond her shoulders, and green eyes. Her clothes were in tatters, too. No pride in their appearance, the Mouldheels. She was one of them, all right.

  I halted about five paces away and tried to stare her out, but she wouldn’t look away. “Shouldn’t have come here, Alice Deane,” she warned, a faint smile on her face. “You’ll never leave Pendle alive.”

  How did she know who I was? I gave her a dirty look and spat at her feet. “Haven’t met before, have we? Know that for sure ’cause I’d have remembered your ugly face!”

  “Scried you in a mirror. Knew who you were the moment you crossed into Pendle. Don’t you know who I am?”

  “Don’t really care who you are, girl,” I told her. “You’re nothing! You’re nothing to me!”

  “Well, you should care who I am ’cause you’ll have good cause to remember me. My name’s Mab. Mab Mouldheel.”

  It was the girl Agnes had told me about, the new leader of the Mouldheels. I wasn’t impressed, I can tell you, so there wasn’t much point in wasting words. Mab was supposed to be a seer. Good at seeing the future. But she didn’t see what hit her.

  I went straight for Mab, gave her a good slapping in the face, and grabbed a handful of her hair. She fell sideways off the log, and we rolled over and over. Couple of seconds and I knew I was stronger than she was. I was just getting the better of her when there were shouts in the distance. More Mouldheels! Lots of ’em!

  Struggled to get away then, I did, but Mab hung on to my clothes and hair. Almost tore myself free, but she held me fast. Then rapid footsteps. Somebody running hard toward us. Next something hit me really hard on the side of the head, and everything went dark.

  I woke up with a thumping headache to find myself sitting in a meadow, my back against a drystone wall. My hands were free, but my legs were chained together. I wasn’t in Crow Wood any longer. Cottages in the near distance looked like Bareleigh, the Mouldheel village. The sun was high in the sky. Had to be almost noon.

  “She’s awake!” someone called out, and I turned my head to see three girls walking barefoot toward me through the long grass. One of them was Mab; the other two looked like twins. They had thin faces with hooked noses and narrow, mean mouths.

  The three girls sat down in the grass opposite me, Mab in the middle. “Meet my twin sisters, Alice Deane,” Mab called out. “This is Jennet and this is Beth. Both younger than me but older than you.”

  I looked at Jennet. She was eating something from the palm of her left hand. White, soft, squishy, wriggling things that didn’t like sunlight. They were maggots!

  “Want one o’ these?” Jennet asked, holding out her hand toward the other two girls.

  Mab declined with a curt shake of her head, but Beth popped a couple into her mouth and began to chew. “Good, these,” she said with a crooked smile.

  “Should be!” Jennet mumbled, stuffing her own mouth full of writhing maggots. “Got ’em from a dead cat. Black one, it was, too. Black-cat maggots are always the tastiest.”

  “Well, sisters,” Mab said, squinting straight into my face. “What should we do with this ugly Deane? Roast her over hot coals, or tie her to a tree and let the crows peck out her eyes?”

  “Best we cover her with leeches,” said Beth. “Once they’re plump and squishy with blood we can eat ’em! Nothing quite so juicy as a bloated leech.”

  “Prefer sheep ticks,” Jennet said. “But they’re hard work collecting.”

  “Ain’t a Deane any longer,” I interrupted, directing my words at Mab. “Finished with my family, I have. Could be on your side if you’d have me. Sick of the Deanes. Sick of the Malkins, too.”

  “Who you trying to fool?” Mab sneered. “Wasn’t born yesterday, was I? You’d better talk now and tell us why you’re here. What brings you back to Pendle?”

  “Supposed to be a seer, ain’t you?” I laughed. “Wouldn’t have to ask questions if you knew your craft!”

  Shouldn’t have laughed like that. Mab was livid. Tried to fight ’em off, but my legs were bound and it was three against one. The twins held me down while Mab pulled out a blade and cut off a lock of my hair. I began to tremble then. Knew I was in her power now, all right. Using dark magic, they could hurt me real bad. They took me back to the row of cottages where Mab and her sisters lived. Got me down into a cellar and started to work on me.

  The first time they questioned me it wasn’t that bad. Mab slapped me a few times. Getting her own back, she was, for the pasting I’d given her in the woods. I said nowt anyway. And didn’t cry out. Wouldn’t give ’em the satisfaction.

  After that, they left me alone in the dark for an hour or so. There were four mirrors in that cellar, one on each wall. Despite the dark, out of the corners of my eyes I kept glimpsing things. Witches spying on me. Making sure I wasn’t trying to get away.

  When Mab and her sisters came down the steps the second time, they meant business. Mab had my lock of hair. Kept stroking it, she did, and muttering dark spells. Then the pains started. Pins and needles in my feet for starters. Next bad cramps in my stomach. But the worst thing of all was when I started to choke. It was just like cold invisible hands squeezing my throat. Couldn’t breathe, could I? An hour of that and I told ’em everything they wanted to know. No hope of escape either. Even if I could have gotten free of the padlock and chain, they’d put a bind on me—a spell that meant I couldn’t go more than fifty paces from that cellar. Hopeless, it was.

  Told ’em about Tom and the Spook staying at Downham presbytery. Told ’em why we’d come to Pendle—to rescue Tom’s family and get back his boxes.

  “That’s all I need, Alice Deane!” Mab gloated. “I’m off to Downham now to lure Tom back here. I’ll tell him you asked me to bring him. He’ll follow me for sure then. We’ll have his bones before the night’s over!”

  I really hadn’t wanted to do it. Last person in the world I’d hurt is Tom; I felt really bad giving his whereabouts away. Putting him in danger like that. And I was afraid that Mab’s plan to lure Tom here might just work. She set off for Downham right away, taking her sisters with her.

  After that it was all up with me. Said they were going to take both my bones and my blood just before dawn. Left me down in the cellar for a couple of hours, then some others from their clan took me out into the yard, where a big cauldron was bubbling, and made me sit on the ground nearby. Lots of other Mouldheels there—they all came across and gathered round me. Thought they were going to hit me, but they just stared down at me, their mouths thin, hard lines. Women and men, there were—not all witches, but every last one of ’em a clan member and sworn enemy of a Malkin or a Deane.

  Someone shouted that the food was ready, so they left me alone then. But they didn’t eat from the pot. Two big baskets full of roasted chicken were brought out, and they filled their plates and went and sat in small groups, leaving me be. Started laughing and chatting among themselves then. Nobody offered me any chicken but I was too scared and anxious to eat anyway.

  An old woman was stirring the pot. She came across and sneered down at me. “Pain’s coming your way, girl!” she gloated. “Lots and lots of pain. It hurts a lot when they take your bones. No matter how sharp the knife, it’s still agony. Brewed you up a broth, though. I’ll fetch you some now.”

  So saying, she went back to that bubbling pot and ladled some broth into a bowl. Came back and offered it to me. “Sip that, girl. Laced with special herbs, it is. It’ll take away some of the pain—not all of it, but it might just make it bearable.”

  I shook my head. Maybe she meant it kindly but most likely not. Didn’t like the smell wafting up from the bowl she was holding under my nose. Some believe that the more it hurts when they take your bones, the more powerful the dark magic, so it could have been a broth to make me hurt more. I couldn’t take a chance. I shook my head a second
time, and she shuffled away, grumbling and muttering under her breath.

  Soon after that, Mab and her two sisters came down the hill. I was relieved that Tom wasn’t with them. Mab looked angry, so something must have gone wrong. Went right up to the fire, Mab did, and spat into it. Flames died down right away. Then, on Mab’s orders, one of the Mouldheel men picked me up and carried me back down to the cellar and left me alone.

  I waited to die. Thought then of all I’d lost. I’d never see Tom Ward again. That hurt me most of all. Didn’t seem fair. Tears came to my eyes, and I sobbed deep in my throat. I’d assumed that we’d have years together; that I’d be with him until he’d finished his apprenticeship with Old Gregory and then some more. Couldn’t believe it was all over.

  I was scared, too. Really scared. I thought of the knife, the pain, and dying in agony. It started to get really cold in that cellar. Witches kept glancing down at me from the mirrors on the walls. And then something else appeared in a mirror that was even more scary. I saw the ugliest of faces. Looked like a child, but it had no hair at all and a grown man’s features with really sharp needlelike teeth. What was it? And then, suddenly, I knew. It had to be Tibb, the creature that the Malkins and Deanes had made. It seemed to be looking straight at me, laughing and leering, till I turned away in fear and let a few tears come.

  I heard boots coming down the steps and my heart began to race, my whole body trembling with fear. Then the door opened, and somebody was standing there holding a candle. But it wasn’t a Mouldheel with a sharp knife.

  It was Tom Ward. He’d come to rescue me. From a clan of witches, I am, and don’t deserve to be Tom’s friend. But I’d do anything for him. Anything at all. Even die for him if necessary.

  Alice