I sat up quickly, staring about me. The sun had already risen and I could see grey clouds racing overhead. The wind was whistling through the hedge, bending and flexing the spindly leafless branches. ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.
Alice smiled and nodded. ‘There’s nobody less than a mile or so away. Those soldier boys have given up and gone.’
Then I heard a noise nearby – a sort of groaning. It was the Spook.
‘Sounds like he’s having a bad dream,’ Alice said.
‘Perhaps we should wake him up?’ I suggested.
‘Leave him for a few minutes. It’s best if he comes out of it by himself.’
But if anything his cries and moans grew louder and his body started to shake; he was becoming more and more agitated, so after another minute I shook him gently by the shoulder to wake him.
‘Are you all right, Mr Gregory?’ I asked. ‘You seemed to be having some kind of nightmare.’
For a moment his eyes were wild and he looked at me as if I were a stranger or even an enemy. ‘Aye, it was nightmare all right,’ he said at last. ‘It was about Bony Lizzie . . .’
Bony Lizzie was Alice’s mother, a powerful witch who was now bound in a pit in the Spook’s garden at Chipenden.
‘She was sat on a throne,’ continued my master, ‘and the Fiend was standing at her side with his hand on her left shoulder. They were in a big hall that I didn’t recognize at first. The floor was running red with blood. Prisoners were crying out in terror before being executed – they were cutting off their heads. But it was the hall that really bothered me and set my nerves on edge.’
‘Where was it?’ I asked.
The Spook shook his head. ‘She was in the great hall at Caster Castle! She was the ruler of the County . . .’
‘It was just a nightmare,’ I said. ‘Lizzie’s safely bound.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Spook. ‘But I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream that was more vivid . . .’
We set off cautiously towards Chipenden. The Spook said nothing about the sudden mist that had arisen the previous night. It was the season for them, after all, and he had been busy preparing to fight the soldier at the time. But I was sure that it had appeared at Alice’s bidding. Though who was I to say anything? I was tainted by the dark myself.
We’d only recently returned from Greece after defeating the Ordeen, one of the Old Gods. It had cost us dear. My mam had died to gain our victory, and so had Bill Arkwright, the spook who’d worked north of Caster – that’s why we had his dogs with us.
I’d also paid a terrible price. In order to make that victory possible, I’d sold my own soul to the Fiend.
All that prevented him from dragging me off to the dark now was the blood jar given to me by Alice, which I carried in my pocket. The Fiend couldn’t approach me while I had it by me. Alice needed to stay close to me to share its protection – otherwise the Fiend would kill her in revenge for the help she’d given me. Of course, the Spook didn’t know about that. If I told him what I’d done, it would be the end of my apprenticeship.
As we climbed the slope towards Chipenden, my master grew more and more anxious. We’d seen pockets of devastation: some burned-out houses; many that were deserted, one with a corpse in a nearby ditch.
‘I’d hoped they wouldn’t have come so far inland. I dread to think what we’ll find, lad,’ he said grimly.
Normally he would have avoided walking through Chipenden village: most people didn’t like being too close to a spook and he respected the wishes of the locals. But as the grey slate roofs came into view, one glance was enough to tell us that something was terribly wrong.
It was clear that enemy soldiers had passed this way. Many of the roofs were badly damaged, with charred beams exposed to the air. The closer we got, the worse it was. Almost a third of the houses were completely burned out, their blackened stones just shells of what had once been homes to local families. Those that hadn’t gone up in flames had broken windows and splintered doors hanging from their hinges, with evidence of looting.
The village seemed completely abandoned, but then we heard the sound of banging. Someone was hammering. Quickly the Spook led us through the cobbled streets towards the sound. We were heading for the main road through the village, where the shops were. We passed the greengrocer’s and the baker’s, both ransacked, and headed for the butcher’s shop, which seemed to be the source of the noise.
The butcher was still there, his red beard glinting in the morning light, but he wasn’t carrying out repairs to his premises; he was nailing down the lid of a coffin. There were three other coffins lined up close by, already sealed and ready for burial. One was small and obviously contained a young child. The butcher got to his feet as we entered the yard and came across to shake the Spook’s hand. He was the one real contact my master had amongst the villagers; the only person he ever talked to about things other than spook’s business.
‘It’s terrible, Mr Gregory,’ the butcher said. ‘Things can never be the same again.’
‘I hope it’s not . . .’ the Spook muttered, glancing down at the coffins.
‘Oh, no, thank the Lord for that at least,’ the butcher told him. ‘It happened three days ago. I got my own family away to safety just in time. No, these poor folk weren’t quick enough. They killed everybody they could find. It was just an enemy patrol, but a very large one. They were out foraging for supplies. There was no need to burn houses and kill people; no cause to murder this family. Why did they do that? They could just have taken what they wanted and left.’
The Spook nodded. I knew what his answer was to that, although he didn’t spell it out to the butcher. He would have said it was because the Fiend was now loose in the world. He made people more cruel, wars more savage.
‘I’m sorry about your house, Mr Gregory,’ the butcher continued.
The colour drained from the Spook’s face. ‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, I’m really sorry … don’t you know? I assumed you’d called back there already. We heard the boggart howling and roaring from miles away. There must have been too many for it to deal with. They ransacked your house, taking anything they could carry, then set fire to it . . .’
Making no reply, the Spook turned and set off up the hill, almost running. Soon the cobbles gave way to a muddy track. After climbing the hill, we came to the boundary of the garden. I commanded the dogs to wait there as we pushed on into the trees.