The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  He sighed and scratched at his beard. “As I told you, it’s a cruel thing to burn a witch, and I don’t hold with it myself.”

  “I suppose now I’ll have to face Mother Malkin again,” I said.

  The Spook smiled. “No, lad, you can rest easy, because she won’t be coming back to this world. Not after what happened at the end. Remember what I told you about eating the heart of a witch? Well, those pigs of yours did it for us.”

  “Not just the heart. They ate up every bit,” I told him. “So I’m safe? Really safe? She can’t come back?”

  “Aye, you’re safe from Mother Malkin. There are other threats out there just as bad, but you’re safe for now.”

  I felt a big sense of relief, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I’d been living in a nightmare, and now, with the threat of Mother Malkin removed, the world seemed a much brighter, happier place. It was over at last, and I could start to look forward to things again.

  “Well, you’re safe until you make another silly mistake,” the Spook added. “And don’t say you won’t. He who never makes a mistake never makes anything. It’s part of learning the job.

  “Well, what’s to be done now?” he asked, squinting into the rising sun.

  “About what?” I asked, wondering what he meant.

  “About the girl, lad,” he said. “It looks like it’s the pit for her. I don’t see any way around it.”

  “But she saved Ellie’s baby at the end,” I protested. “She saved my life as well.”

  “She used the mirror, lad. It’s a bad sign. Lizzie taught her a lot. Too much. Now she’s shown us that she’s prepared to use it. What will she do next?”

  “But she meant well. She used it to try and find Mother Malkin.”

  “Maybe, but she knows too much, and she’s clever, too. She’s just a girl now, but one day she’ll be a woman, and some clever women are dangerous.”

  “My mam’s clever,” I told him, annoyed at what he’d said. “But she’s good, too. Everything she does she does for the best. She uses her brains to help people. One year, when I was really small, the ghasts on Hangman’s Hill frightened me so much that I couldn’t sleep. Mam went up there after dark and she shut them up. They were quiet for months and months.”

  I could have added that, on our first morning together, the Spook had told me that there wasn’t much to be done about ghasts. And that Mam had proved him wrong. But I didn’t. I’d blurted out too much already, and it didn’t need to be said.

  The Spook didn’t say anything. He was staring toward the house.

  “Ask my mam what she thinks about Alice,” I suggested. “She seems to get on well with her.”

  “I was going to do that anyway,” said the Spook. “It’s about time we had a little talk. You wait here until we’re finished.”

  I watched the Spook cross the yard. Even before he reached it, the kitchen door opened and Mam welcomed him over the threshold.

  Later, it was possible to work out some of the things that they’d said to each other, but they talked together for almost half an hour, and I never did find out whether ghasts came into the conversation. When the Spook finally came out into the sunshine, Mam stayed in the doorway. He did something unusual then—something I’d never seen him do before. At first I thought he’d just nodded at Mam as he said good-bye, but there was a bit more to it than that. There was a movement of his shoulders, too. It was slight but very definite, so there was no doubt about it. As he took his leave of Mam, the Spook gave her a little bow.

  When he crossed the yard toward me, he seemed to be smiling to himself. “I’ll be off on my way back to Chipenden now,” he said, “but I think your mother would like you to stay one more night. Anyway, I’m going to leave it up to you,” said the Spook. “Either bring the girl back and we’ll bind her in the pit, or take her to her aunt in Staumin. The choice is yours. Use your instinct for what’s right. You’ll know what to do.”

  Then he was gone, leaving me with my head whirling. I knew what I wanted to do about Alice, but it had to be the right thing.

  So I got to eat another of Mam’s suppers.

  Dad was back by then, but although Mam was happy to see him, there was something not quite right, a sort of atmosphere like an invisible cloud hanging over the table. So it wasn’t exactly a celebration party, and nobody had much to say.

  The food was good, though, one of Mam’s special hot pots, so I didn’t mind the lack of conversation—I was too busy filling my belly and getting second helpings before Jack could scrape the dish clean.

  Jack had his appetite back, but he was a bit subdued, like everyone else. He’d been through a lot, with a big bump on his forehead to prove it. As for Alice, I hadn’t told her what the Spook had said, but I felt she knew anyway. She didn’t speak once during dinner. But the quietest one of all was Ellie. Despite the joy of having her baby back, what she’d seen had upset her badly, and I could tell it would take some getting over.

  When the others went up to bed, Mam asked me to stay behind. I sat by the fire in the kitchen, just as I had on the night before I went away to begin my apprenticeship. But something in her face told me this conversation was going to be different. Before, she’d been firm with me but hopeful. Confident that things would work out all right. Now she looked sad and uncertain.

  “I’ve been delivering County babies for nearly twenty-five years,” she said, sitting down in her rocking chair, “and I’ve lost a few. Although it’s very sad for the mother and father, it’s just something that happens. It happens with farm animals, Tom. You’ve seen it yourself.”

  I nodded. Every year a few lambs were born dead. It was something you expected.

  “This time it was worse,” Mam said. “This time both the mother and the baby died, something that’s never happened to me before. I know the right herbs and how to blend them. I know how to cope with severe bleeding. I know just what to do. And this mother was young and strong. She shouldn’t have died, but I couldn’t save her. I did everything I could, but I couldn’t save her. And it’s given me a pain here. A pain in my heart.”

  Mam gave a sort of sob and clutched at her chest. For one awful moment I thought she was going to cry, but then she took a deep breath and the strength came back into her face.

  “But sheep die, Mam, and sometimes cows when giving birth,” I told her. “A mother was bound to die eventually. It’s a miracle that you’ve gone so long without it happening before.”

  I did my best, but it was hard to console her. Mam was taking it very badly. It made her look on the gloomy side of things.

  “It’s getting darker, son,” she said to me. “And it’s coming sooner than I expected. I’d hoped you’d be a grown man first, with years of experience under your belt. So you’re going to have to listen carefully to everything your master says. Every little thing will count. You’re going to have to get yourself ready as quickly as you can and work hard at your Latin lessons.”

  She paused then and held out her hand. “Let me see the book.”

  When I handed it to her, she flicked through the pages, pausing every so often to read a few lines. “Did it help?” she asked.

  “Not much,” I admitted.

  “Your master wrote this himself. Did he tell you that?”

  I shook my head. “Alice said it was written by a priest.”

  Mam smiled. “Your master was a priest once. That’s how he started out. No doubt he’ll tell you about it one day. But don’t ask. Let him tell you in his own good time.”

  “Was that what you and Mr. Gregory talked about?” I asked.

  “That and other things, but mainly about Alice. He asked me what I thought should happen to her. I told him he should leave it to you. So have you made up your mind yet?”

  I shrugged. “I’m still not sure what to do, but Mr. Gregory said that I should use my instincts.”

  “That’s good advice, son,” Mam said.

  “But what do you think, Mam?” I
asked. “What did you tell Mr. Gregory about Alice? Is Alice a witch? Tell me that at least.”

  “No,” Mam said slowly, weighing her words carefully. “She’s not a witch, but she will be one day. She was born with the heart of a witch, and she’s little choice but to follow that path.”

  “Then she should go into the pit at Chipenden,” I said sadly, hanging my head.

  “Remember your lessons,” Mam said sternly. “Remember what your master taught you. There’s more than one kind of witch.”

  “The benign,” I said. “You mean Alice might turn out to be a good witch who helps others?”

  “She might. And she might not. Do you know what I really think? You might not want to hear this.”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Alice might end up neither good nor bad. She might end up somewhere in between. That would make her very dangerous to know. That girl could be the bane of your life, a blight, a poison on everything you do. Or she might turn out to be the best and strongest friend you’ll ever have. Someone who’ll make all the difference in the world. I just don’t know which way it will go. I can’t see it, no matter how hard I try.”

  “How could you see it anyway, Mam?” I asked. “Mr. Gregory said he doesn’t believe in prophecy. He said the future’s not fixed.”

  Mam put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze of reassurance. “There’s some choice open to us all,” she said. “But maybe one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make will be about Alice. Go to bed now, and get a good night’s sleep if you can. Make up your mind tomorrow when the sun’s shining.”

  One thing I didn’t ask Mam was how she’d managed to silence the ghasts on Hangman’s Hill. It was my instincts again. I just knew that it was something she wouldn’t want to talk about. In a family, there are some things you don’t ask. You know you’ll be told when it’s the right time.

  We left soon after dawn, my heart down in my boots.

  Ellie followed me to the gate. I stopped there but waved Alice on, and she sauntered up the hill, swinging her hips, without even once glancing back.

  “I need to say something to you, Tom,” Ellie said. “It hurts me to do it, but it has to be said.”

  I could tell by her voice that it was going to be bad. I nodded miserably and forced myself to meet her eyes. I was shocked to see that they were streaming with tears.

  “You’re still welcome here, Tom,” Ellie said, brushing her hair back from her forehead and trying to smile. “That’s not changed. But we do have to think of our child. So you’ll be welcome here, but not after dark. You see, that’s what’s made Jack so bad tempered recently. I didn’t like to tell you just how strongly he feels, but it has to be said now. He doesn’t like the job you’re doing at all. Not one little bit. It gives him the creeps. And he’s scared for the baby.

  “We’re frightened, you see. We’re frightened that if you’re ever here after dark, you might attract something else. You might bring back something bad with you, and we can’t risk anything happening to our family. Come and visit us during the day, Tom. Come and see us when the sun’s up and the birds are singing.”

  Ellie hugged me then, and that made it even worse. I knew that something had come between us and that things had changed forever. I felt like crying, but somehow I stopped myself. I don’t know how I managed it. There was a big lump in my throat, and I couldn’t speak.

  I watched Ellie walk back to the farmhouse and turned my attention back to the decision I had to make.

  What should I do about Alice?

  I’d woken up certain that it was my duty to take her back with me to Chipenden. It seemed the right thing to do. The safe thing to do. It felt like a duty. When I gave Mother Malkin the cakes, I’d let the softness of my heart overrule me. And look where that had gotten me. So it was probably best to deal with Alice now, before it was too late. As the Spook said, you had to think of the innocents who might be harmed in the future.

  On the first day of the journey, we didn’t speak to each other much. I just told her we were going back to Chipenden to see the Spook. If Alice knew what was going to happen to her, she certainly didn’t complain. Then on the second day, as we got closer to the village and were actually on the lower slopes of the fells, no more than a mile or so from the Spook’s house, I told Alice what I’d been keeping bottled up inside me; what had been worrying me ever since I’d realized just what the cakes contained.

  We were sitting on a grassy bank close to the side of the road. The sun had set and the light was beginning to fail.

  “Alice, do you ever tell lies?” I asked.

  “Everybody tells lies sometimes,” she replied. “Wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. But mostly I tell the truth.”

  “What about that night when I was trapped in the pit? When I asked you about those cakes. You said there hadn’t been another child at Lizzie’s house. Was that true?”

  “Didn’t see one.”

  “The first one that went missing was no more than a baby. It couldn’t have wandered off by itself. Are you sure?”

  Alice nodded and then bowed her head, staring down at the grass.

  “I suppose it could have been carried off by wolves,” I said. “That’s what the village lads thought.”

  “Lizzie said she’s seen wolves in these parts. That could be it,” Alice agreed.

  “So what about the cakes, Alice? What was in them?”

  “Suet and pork bits mostly. Bread crumbs, too.”

  “What about the blood, then? Animal blood wouldn’t have been good enough for Mother Malkin. Not when she needed enough strength to bend the bars over the pit. So where did the blood come from, Alice—the blood that was used in the cakes?”

  Alice started to cry. I waited patiently for her to finish, then asked the question again.

  “Well, where did it come from?”

  “Lizzie said I was still a child,” Alice said. “They’d used my blood lots of times. So one more time didn’t matter. It don’t hurt that much. Not when you get used to it. How could I stop Lizzie anyway?”

  With that, Alice pushed up her sleeve and showed me her upper arm. There was still enough light to see the scars. And there were a lot of them—some old; some relatively new. The newest one of all hadn’t healed properly yet. It was still weeping.

  “There’s more than that. Lots more. But I can’t show ’em all,” Alice said.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept quiet. But I’d already made up my mind, and soon we walked off into the dark, away from Chipenden.

  I’d decided to take Alice straight to Staumin, where her aunt lived. I couldn’t bear the thought of her ending up in a pit in the Spook’s garden. It was just too terrible—and I remembered another pit. I remembered how Alice had helped me from Tusk’s pit just before Bony Lizzie had come to collect my bones. But above all, it was what Alice had just told me that had finally changed my mind. Once, she’d been one of the innocents. Alice had been a victim, too.

  We climbed Parlick Pike, then moved north onto Blindhurst Fell, always keeping to the high ground.

  I liked the idea of going to Staumin. It was near the coast, and I’d never seen the sea before, except from the tops of the fells. The route I chose was more than a bit out of the way, but I fancied exploring and liked being up there close to the sun. Anyway, Alice didn’t seem to mind at all.

  It was a good journey, and I enjoyed Alice’s company, and for the first time we really started to talk. She taught me a lot, too. She knew the names of more stars than I did and was really good at catching rabbits.

  As for plants, Alice was an expert on things that the Spook hadn’t even mentioned so far, such as deadly nightshade and mandrake. I didn’t believe everything she said, but I wrote it down anyway because she’d been taught it by Lizzie and I thought it was useful to learn what a witch believes. Alice was really good at distinguishing mushrooms from poisonous toadstools, some of which were so dangerous that one bite would stop y
our heart or drive you insane. I had my notebook with me and under the heading called Botany, I added three more pages of useful information.

  One night, when we were less than a day’s walk from Staumin, we stayed in a forest clearing. We’d just cooked two rabbits in the embers of a fire until the meat almost melted in our mouths. After the meal Alice did something really strange. After turning to face me, she reached across and held my hand.

  We sat there like that for a long time. She was staring into the embers of the fire, and I was looking up at the stars. I didn’t want to break away, but I was all mixed up. My left hand was holding her left hand and I felt guilty. I felt as if I were holding hands with the dark, and I knew the Spook wouldn’t like it.

  There was no way I could get away from the truth. Alice was going to be a witch one day. It was then that I realized Mam was right. It was nothing to do with prophecy. You could see it in Alice’s eyes. She’d always be somewhere in between, neither wholly good nor wholly bad. But wasn’t that true of all of us? Not one of us was perfect.

  So I didn’t pull my hand away. I just sat there, one part of me enjoying holding her hand, which was sort of comforting after all that had happened, while the other part sweated with guilt.

  It was Alice who broke away. She took her hand out of mine and then touched my arm where her nails had cut me on the night we destroyed Mother Malkin. You could see the scars clearly in the glow from the embers.

  “Put my brand on you there,” she said with a smile. “That won’t ever fade away.”

  I thought that was a strange thing to say, and I wasn’t sure what she meant. Back home we put our brand on cattle. We did it to show that they belonged to us and to stop strays getting mixed up with animals from neighboring farms. So how could I belong to Alice?

  The following day we came down onto a great flat plain. Some of it was moss land and the worst bits were soggy marsh, but eventually we found our way through to Staumin. I never got to see the aunt because she wouldn’t come out to talk to me. Still, she agreed to take Alice in, so I couldn’t complain.

  There was a big, wide river nearby, and before I left for Chipenden, we walked down its bank as far as the sea. I wasn’t really taken with it. It was a gray, windy day, and the water was the same color as the sky and the waves were big and rough.