The Spook's Blood

by Joseph Delaney

  In a carpenter’s workshop I had my first piece of luck. The man rested his saw long enough to listen to my question. Then he nodded.

  ‘There’s no townie here does that kind of work, but old Billy Benson has a horse and cart and he’s always short of money. Maybe he’d do it if the price was right.’

  ‘Thanks. Where will I find him?’ I asked.

  ‘At Benson’s Farm, of course,’ the man replied in a tone that suggested that everyone knew that. ‘Go north out of the town; it’s over the top of the moors. You’ll see the track. He runs a few scraggy sheep.’

  ‘How far is it?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re young and fit. Shake yourself and you could be there and back by nightfall.’

  Mumbling thanks for the second time, I left the premises and set off at a jog. What choice did I have? No doubt the Spook would be unhappy that I was taking so long, but we really did need the transport.

  It soon became apparent that I was not likely to return to Todmorden by nightfall. It took me well over two hours to reach the end of the meandering track across the moors. As I walked, my thoughts turned once more to Alice and the lies I had told her. My heart felt heavy, and I thought of the future with dread. It seemed we were growing apart. With her increasing use of dark magic, we were following diverging paths.

  The farmhouse, when I finally reached it, was a small ramshackle building with slates missing from the roof. When I knocked on the door there was no reply, but I was pleased to see a couple of horses tethered behind the house, and a cart that, although it had clearly seen far better days, at least had four wheels. Mr Benson was no doubt out tending his sheep.

  I waited almost an hour, and was just about to give up and go back to Todmorden when a wiry old farmer with a collie at his heels came into view.

  ‘Be off with you!’ he cried, waving his stick at me. ‘Strangers ain’t welcome here! Be off or I’ll set my dog on you!’

  I stood my ground and waited for him to reach me. The dog didn’t look particularly fierce but I held my staff at the ready just in case.

  ‘I’ve come with an offer of work,’ I told him. ‘You’ll be well paid. We need some books transporting to Chipenden. I was told you had a cart.’

  ‘Aye, that I do, and I certainly need some brass. But books? Books, did you say? I’ve carted some things in my time: coal, manure, mutton, even people, but never books. What is the world coming to! Where are these books?’ he asked, looking around as if expecting to see them piled up somewhere.

  ‘They’re at the big house at the top of Bent Lane,’ I told him.

  ‘Bent Lane? But that’s on the other side of the river. You won’t get me over that bridge for all the brass in the world!’

  ‘Is it the bridge that worries you? If necessary, we can carry the books over to this side.’

  ‘The bridge is sturdier than it looks, but it’s the things on the other side that bother me. I’d never get my horses onto that side of the river anyway. They’d be scared of being eaten.’

  ‘By the bears?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, maybe by the bears – but maybe by other things that it’s best not to think about – by the foreigners!’

  It was a waste of time arguing with a man who held such crazy notions, so I quickly suggested a compromise: ‘Will you do the job if we carry the books across the bridge?’

  ‘Aye, that I will, just as long as the sun’s high in the sky,’ Mr Benson said. ‘I’ll be there at noon tomorrow. How much will ye pay?’

  ‘That’s up to my master, John Gregory, but he said he’ll be generous so don’t you worry.’

  We shook hands on it and I set off back towards Todmorden. It would take several trips for us to get the books to this side of the river, but it was the best deal I could get. And then a word came into my head – foreigners – and a chill ran down my spine.

  In the County, folk sometimes used the word ‘foreigners’ when talking about outsiders – even people from a neighbouring county. But I suddenly thought of Mistress Fresque. She came from Romania and was a true foreigner to our shores, like her uncle before her. Was the Spook’s instinct correct? Did she pose some kind of threat? Was she the one that people on this bank of the river were scared of?

  I suddenly realized that the sun would be setting in less than half an hour. It would be dark before I reached the house! Could my master be in danger? I wondered.

  I broke into a run. Surely the Spook wouldn’t stay there? No – he’d return to the tavern. But if I got back after dark I’d be locked out . . . or would my master let me in despite the wishes of the innkeeper?

  The sun went down well before I began my descent into Todmorden. By the time I reached the tavern it was totally dark. I hammered on the door. The sound echoed along the streets, and I had that strange feeling again – the one I’d had as we’d approached Cosmina’s house: as if something dangerous was nearby but invisible; as if the whole world was holding its breath.

  Now I felt really scared, and I thumped on the door again, this time with my staff. I kept hammering at it until I got a response. It wasn’t the one I’d hoped for. I’d expected my master to come downstairs and let me in. Instead the window directly above the door opened and a voice called down:

  ‘Be off with you! You’ll attract trouble making all that noise.’

  It was the landlord, but there was no light shining from the open window and his face was in darkness.

  ‘Let me in!’ I cried.

  ‘I have told you already: nobody enters here after dark!’ he hissed down at me. ‘Come back tomorrow morning – if you’re still breathing.’

  ‘Please tell my master I’m here, then,’ I begged, unnerved by his words. ‘Ask him to come and talk to me.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time. Your master isn’t here. He didn’t come back. If he’s still at Mistress Fresque’s house, you won’t be seeing him again. Best thing you can do, boy, is stay on this side of the river until dawn!’

  My heart lurched at his words; they confirmed my worst fears. The Spook was in danger.

  The landlord slammed the window shut, leaving me alone. My body started to shake, and I suddenly felt a strong urge to take his advice and stay on this side of the bridge. But how could I leave my master? I might already be too late, but I had to try and save him, whatever the cost to myself. What sort of threat did Mistress Fresque pose? Farmer Benson had talked about the ‘foreigners’ eating his horses. It had seemed a crazy thing to say at the time, but now I considered the implications of his words. Did they eat people too? Could they be cannibals?

  I crossed the river and set off for Bent Lane, where I stopped and listened. All I could hear was the wind sighing through the trees. Then, somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted twice. A crescent moon hung just above the horizon, but its light could not penetrate the canopy that shrouded the lane. It was a dark tunnel filled with unknown dangers. Gripping my staff tightly, I began to walk up the slope towards the house.

  Perhaps the Spook had simply accepted an invitation to spend the night at Mistress Fresque’s house. If so, was he simply a guest or in real danger? Was I worrying for nothing – simply letting my imagination get the better of me? Judd would be staying at the house as well, so there were two spooks to deal with any threat. Well, I told myself, I would find out soon enough.

  I was about halfway up the lane when I heard something moving to my right. Something big was padding through the trees. I came to a halt, my heart thumping, alert for danger, and held my staff diagonally in front of me.

  The noises stopped. When I set off again, they started up too. It sounded like a large animal beside me, almost as if I was being escorted. Was it a bear? If so, at least it wasn’t getting any closer.

  Suddenly I saw the house through the trees, and whatever had been accompanying me was suddenly gone, as if it had vanished into thin air.

  The windows were dark, but I could just make out the outline of the building. I stepped round the tree and walked up
to the front door. To my surprise it was wide open, hanging from one hinge. Beyond it I could see nothing. The darkness within was absolute. I rested my staff against the wall, then reached into my breeches pocket and pulled out a candle stub, using my little tinderbox to light it. Holding it up in my right hand, and my staff in my left, I stepped into the hallway.

  Immediately I knew that something was badly wrong. There was a strong stench of rot and decay, and I noted a thick coating of dust along the top of the wainscot. It certainly hadn’t been there earlier in the day. Not only that, there was paint flaking from the door frame. Previously, everything inside the house had been clean, polished and well-maintained. It didn’t make sense.

  I went up to the oval door at the end of the passage. I tried the handle, but it was locked. That was no problem because I had in my pocket a special key made by Andrew, the Spook’s locksmith brother, which would open most doors. I inserted the key, and within seconds the lock yielded. Returning the key to my pocket, I eased open the door and lifted the candle high to illuminate the lower floor of the library.

  But what I saw in front of me was incredible . . . impossible: the shelves were empty of books and many of the bookcases had collapsed. Spiders’ webs covered those few that remained intact. I looked down and saw my footprints in a thick coating of dust. It looked as if nobody had entered this room for many long years. Of the table that had held the books we’d selected earlier there was now no sign at all.

  How could that be, I wondered, when I had been here with my master this very morning?

  I looked up at the other floors of the library. The light from my candle could reach no further than the one directly above, but it appeared to be in the same state of disrepair and neglect.

  Suddenly a chill ran the length of my spine – the warning that a seventh son of a seventh son often receives when something from the dark is approaching – and, out of nowhere, a strong wind blew up. The candle flame flickered and went out, plunging me into darkness.

  FOR A MOMENT the darkness seemed absolute. The moon could not penetrate the trees that shrouded the house, and no light was coming in through either door or window.

  My heart thudded and quickened. I took a deep breath to calm myself and realized that I was mistaken – there was a faint source of light in the room, coming from one of the dilapidated bookcases beside the oval door. On it a single book was glowing with a lurid red light.

  I took a step closer. The book was propped up against the back of the shelf, its title clearly visible. It was the Doomdryte, the dangerous grimoire that my master had wanted to destroy.

  I heard a deep growl to my right and spun round. What I saw made me take an involuntary step backwards. Terrifying, malevolent eyes stared at me out of a bestial face. The creature’s head was completely bald and its ears were large and pointed and covered in long fine hair. Long curved fangs curled down over its bottom lip. Orange light radiated from the whole body, which was human in shape and stood about six feet tall. It wore heavy boots and filthy ragged clothes that were caked in mud. Its hands were twice the size of mine, each digit ending in a long sharp talon.

  It growled again and took a step towards me. I retreated, holding my staff across me defensively. I couldn’t remember seeing anything like this before. Had I ever glimpsed an image of this creature in the Spook’s Bestiary? A sketch he’d made from someone else’s description? I vaguely remembered something. What was it . . . ?

  With a click I released my staff’s retractable blade – made of a silver alloy and effective against most creatures of the dark. I was ready to repel any attack, but this did me no good at all. The creature was incredibly fast. One minute it was glaring at me with its menacing eyes; the next it had surged past me in a blur, snatching the staff out of my hands. I lost my balance, fell to my knees and saw it standing on the other side of the room, examining my staff. Suddenly it snapped it in two and threw the pieces down.

  ‘The weapon was puny and no threat to me at all,’ it growled. ‘You are young. You will taste better than your master!’

  At those words I shuddered. Taste? Had the creature killed and eaten the Spook? Was that what it meant? Was I too late? I felt a moment of anguish, then pushed my feelings aside and forced myself to concentrate as my master had taught me.

  I suddenly wondered about Mistress Fresque. The house and library looked very different now. Was the girl in her true form? Was she a shape-shifter? I wondered. Or was this something else?

  The creature slowly took a step towards me; it might attack at any moment.

  So I moved first, reaching inside my gown with my left hand.

  I drew the Destiny Blade.

  Immediately there was a third source of light in the room to add to that of the Doomdryte and the fanged creature that threatened me. It came from the sword.

  I glanced down at it. The ruby eyes of the skelt were glowing, and from them beads of blood were dripping onto the floor. The blade was hungry.

  I readied the sword as the bestial creature stared at me, eyes glowing. Suddenly a blur of orange light streaked towards me. I slashed at it horizontally, striking more by instinct than skill. Maybe I got lucky – but whatever happened, I felt an impact and the sword was almost torn from my hands. Somehow I held onto it and gripped it tighter. Blood was still dripping from the ruby eyes, but now there was also a fresh stain on the blade.

  The creature reappeared in front of me, its back to the dilapidated shelving. It was crouching, head bowed forward, holding its shoulder, from where blood was spreading in a large stain. I’d cut it, but had I hurt it badly enough to give me an advantage?

  ‘Where is my master?’ I demanded.

  Its reply was a low growl. The time for words was past. One of us was going to die here.

  I took a cautious step towards it, and then another. It might still be able to move faster than I could react; it could rip out my throat before I moved to defend myself.

  So I called upon one of my gifts – the special ability that I’d inherited from my mother. I could slow time . . . make it stop. It was very difficult, but I’d been trained to use the blade by Grimalkin, the witch assassin, and she’d made me practise this skill under combat conditions.

  Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!

  The creature attacked again, but my heart was steady and my focus on the task was increasing. The blur of orange light moving towards me resolved itself into a shape. Its intent was clear, for its mouth was open, revealing two sets of teeth. The upper ones were long fangs; the lower ones were smaller and thin, like needles. The beast’s arms were held wide, ready to embrace me in a hug of death.

  Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!

  It was working. I was beginning to control time. Every step the creature took towards me was slower. Its whole body was rippling with urgency but now it was hardly moving. Now I was running towards it. I hefted the sword, putting into the blow all the strength that I could muster – along with the fury and anguish I felt at the news about my master.

  The blade sliced into the creature’s neck, cutting the head clean off. It hit the floor hard and rolled away into the dust under the bookshelves. The body tottered and took another step towards me, black blood spraying out of the severed neck. Then it collapsed at my feet, the blood forming a widening pool around it.

  I’d felt a strange satisfaction on striking that blow. It was almost as if the blade had moved with me; we’d combined to deliver the perfect killing stroke. Grimalkin had trained me in its use, but I’d moved on from that. It truly was the Destiny Blade; our futures were now bound together.

  I stepped back to avoid the blood, but I didn’t sheathe the sword. Some creatures of the dark had incredible powers of regeneration, so I had to stay on my guard. But this one did something else.

  The orange light that had illuminated the creature from within suddenly floated up to form a helix, a slowly twisting spiral that hovered just above the body, then shot off, passing through th
e wall to my left and disappearing from sight.

  Immediately a nauseating stench of rot filled the room. The body at my feet was just visible in the glow of the ruby eyes in the sword hilt. It began to bubble, an acrid steam rising from it. I stepped back, placing one hand in front of my mouth. It was decomposing rapidly. What had left it? I wondered. Its soul? What kind of creature was I dealing with?

  With a heavy heart I remembered what it had said about the Spook. Could he really be dead? It was hard to accept. A lump came into my throat. I couldn’t just leave the house without being sure one way or the other. I needed to search for him.

  I lit the candle stub again and approached the other door; the one that Mistress Fresque had used. I had assumed that it led to her living quarters, but to my surprise I found myself in a very small room with stone steps going down into the darkness.

  What was below – a cellar? Is that where she’d gone each time she’d left us? Did the bell ring somewhere down there?

  I began to descend the steps, the sword in my right hand, the candle held aloft in my left. I had switched them because the staircase curved away widdershins, in an anti-clockwise direction, and this way I had more room to deploy the blade. I was counting the steps, and realized that the cellar must be very deep. My count had already reached forty when they straightened out, and I saw below me what looked like the cellar floor. After two more steps I came to a halt. In the small pool of yellow light cast by the candle I could see bones scattered across the floor. One glance told me that they were human; some were covered in blood. I could see a skull and part of a forearm amongst the other fragments. This was the lair of creatures who fed on the blood and flesh of humans. I wondered if any of these bones belonged to my master.

  I suddenly realized that there could well be another creature like the one I’d slain. Perhaps Mistress Fresque was waiting down here in the darkness, ready to leap on me.