I studied it carefully, committing it to memory.
At dusk the captain still hadn’t returned, and we were starting to get worried. What could have delayed him?
We hid our bags as best we could so that it would be easier to fight the buggane. Salt and iron were useless against this daemon, but we both took our silver chains, which might be able to bind it temporarily, giving us a chance to use the silver-alloy blades in our staffs to finish it off.
As it grew dark, we started to walk towards the chapel ruins again. It had gone badly the previous night and I wasn’t confident that we could do any better now. The buggane was dangerous and had a powerful ally in the shaman.
We hadn’t gone far when I heard dogs barking in the distance. For a moment I feared tracker hounds again, but then I relaxed. I wasn’t going to be fooled twice.
‘It’s Bill Arkwright’s dogs,’ I told the Spook. ‘They’re coming back!’
Suddenly the distant dogs began to howl and bay as if they’d caught the scent of their prey.
‘Aye, lad, but they’re not alone!’ cried my master.
The dogs were racing towards us, and at their heels was a large group of armed men, maybe twenty or more.
‘Run for it, lad!’
We set off as fast as we could, our feet flying over the rough grass, but after several minutes we still hadn’t put any distance between ourselves and our pursuers.
‘Split up!’ the Spook shouted. ‘Divide them, and maybe they won’t catch us both!’
I obeyed, peeling off to the left while he went right. For either of us to be captured was bad enough, but what he’d suggested certainly made good sense.
For a few moments I sprinted off and the sound of the dogs actually started to fade. But just when I thought I was getting away, I heard a single bark close behind me. I looked back to see Claw closing on me fast. Beyond her were half a dozen men with clubs. They didn’t seem to be gaining on me, but the dog certainly was.
I stumbled on a tussock of grass, went down on all fours, and immediately jumped to my feet again. But before I could go anywhere Claw was on me, her teeth clamped on my breeches just above the ankle.
‘Let go, Claw! Let go!’ I shouted, but she growled and began to shake my leg as she would a rat.
I couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. She’d always obeyed Bill Arkwright, and had once saved my life when I’d been seized by the water witch, Morwena. Since Bill’s death I’d thought of her as my own dog. How had the shaman managed to turn her against me like this? She seemed like a different animal.
She was a big, powerful wolfhound and the only way to make her let go was to whack her hard with my staff – though even that might not be enough. I raised my arm, but then hesitated … I couldn’t bring myself to do it … And then it was too late. The first of the yeomen – a big, burly man – was upon me.
He swung his club at my head. I used my staff against him rather than the dog, and he went down at my feet with a grunt. I felled a second assailant, but then I was surrounded. What happened next was bad. Claw snarled and transferred her grip from my breeches to my ankle. I felt her teeth sink in. My sense of shock at her behaviour was worse than the physical pain. Then a whack to my head brought me to my knees and my staff fell to the ground. The blows rained in hard; someone booted me in my stomach and I doubled up in pain, fighting for breath.
I was hauled roughly to my feet, my hands were tied behind my back and I was marched off through the trees. Every so often someone would direct a kick at my back or my legs. That was bad enough, but soon the grey stone of the keep loomed up through the trees. I knew where they were taking me – down into the dungeons to feed me to the buggane.
Greeba Keep had a wide moat full of murky water, but rather than a drawbridge like Malkin Tower, this fortification had a simple wooden approach ramp and a metal portcullis between two small gatehouses that were scarcely higher than the outer wall. I stood there, suffering kicks and thumps as we waited for it to be raised.
Once inside, I saw that the walls enclosed a flagged area full of stone buildings. The tall tower was right at the centre, protected by another portcullis. Two yeomen, each furnished with a flickering torch, dragged me along beneath the strong metal grille, then down some steep spiral steps until we reached a guard-room, where half a dozen men sat eating while others cleaned boots and polished armour.
I was taken through a doorway opposite them and down more steps into the damp darkness. Eventually we emerged in a narrow passageway dripping with water, with soft mud that squelched underfoot. At one point I saw water cascading down the wall – I assumed we were passing under the moat, heading for the deep dungeons to the south, within the buggane’s domain. Every so often other passageways led off to our right and left.
I’d expected to be held in a chamber similar to the one in the Tynwald witch tower, along with the other prisoners, including Adriana, but we went straight past a row of narrow cells: I heard no sounds or movement so it was impossible to tell if any were occupied. One of the yeomen unlocked the door of the one at the end and, after cutting the ropes that bound my hands, thrust me inside. Once the metal door clanged shut, I was plunged into complete darkness.
I waited for the footsteps to die away and then reached into my pocket for my tinderbox and candle stub. I always carry them with me because spook’s business often means working after dark or in underground chambers. I also checked on the blood jar, relieved to find that it was still safe. But poor Alice – she was beyond its protection. I could hardly bear to think about the risk she faced from the Fiend.
I was surprised that I hadn’t been searched and still had my silver chain – not that it would be any use against the buggane in its spirit form as it came to draw the life from my body.
I managed to light the candle, but the underground cell proved even worse than I’d expected. Not even straw to lie on. There was an oddity too: three of the walls were made of damp stone but the fourth was just earth – hard-packed sub-soil. My hands began to tremble, making the candle flame flicker – because low down, in the centre of that earthen wall, was the dark entrance to a tunnel.
Was it one of the buggane’s tunnels? I bent low and peered in. The rear part was still in partial shadow, but it seemed to come to a dead end no more than fifteen feet inside. Had someone tried to dig an escape tunnel and been discovered? If so, why hadn’t the guards filled it in again?