So was it a means of escape? Not for most people. They’d be terrified after such a visitation and wouldn’t dream of venturing inside. But could it be for me? I was a spook’s apprentice and had been in some scary situations before. My instinct as a trainee spook was to follow the tunnel. It was part of the job. Then I remembered my master’s warning about the labyrinth created by the buggane amongst the roots of trees. They moved and shifted and sometimes collapsed without warning. That thought filled me with panic. What if this tunnel collapsed now? And what if I got lost in the labyrinth or suddenly came face to face with the buggane or Horn?
No, I wasn’t ready to take such a risk yet. So I slowly backed my way out and was soon sitting on the floor of the cell again.
I blew out my candle and tried to sleep once more. This time it was more difficult. I was finally dropping off when I heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. Had they captured the Spook? But then a key turned in my lock, and two burly yeomen carrying torches came into my cell.
‘On your feet, boy!’ one of them commanded. ‘We’re taking you to the long room.’
The other walked over to the tunnel entrance. ‘Well, what have we here?’ he remarked, looking at the scattering of soil on the cell floor. ‘Looks like you’ve had a hungry visitor! Likes to take a good look at each victim first, but he’ll be back tomorrow night to start the real business, you can be sure of that!’
They marched me back along the passage with the cells to our right. Again, no sounds came from them. Were they empty? I wondered what had happened to Adriana. Where was she being kept? Had the buggane already begun the process of devouring her? I shuddered at the thought. The poor girl didn’t deserve that. Nobody should have to suffer such a fate. But then, instead of heading for the steps, we turned left, then left again into a much wider, stone-flagged passageway, lit by torches set in wall brackets. It seemed to me that we were still south of the moat and within the buggane’s domain.
I could hear dogs barking in the distance, the sounds increasing in volume as we approached a door at the end of the passageway, and then I was pushed into a large oblong chamber. There were dozens of torches on the walls, and I could clearly see what was going on there. About two dozen men sat on bales of straw near the right-hand wall; perhaps another five or six armed yeomen stood nearby. In the doorway stood their commander, Stanton, scowling at me, a bandage wrapped round his head – clear sign of the damage Alice’s rock had done to him. At the far end, against an earthen wall, stood a large, ornately carved wooden chair, and seated on it was the gaunt figure of Lord Barrule, the shaman, who was presiding over events. Behind him, to his left, was the entrance to a dark tunnel, similar in size to the one in my cell.
Large steel cages lined the left-hand wall – I counted fourteen. Inside each but the last was a dog. There were a variety of breeds but all were big and fierce. My eyes swept down the line. I knew what I would see but it was still a shock when I saw Claw, Blood and Bone there. I felt sick to my stomach.
In the middle of the room was a large empty space, where the floor was covered in sawdust that was dotted with patches of fresh blood. They were clearly staging dog-fights there. I saw money changing hands – men gambling on the outcome of each fight.
Lord Barrule got to his feet and raised his hands high. As he did so, the tumult of barking ceased and, but for a faint whimper here and there, all the dogs fell silent.
As I watched, horrified, two of the cages were opened and the dogs dragged into the centre of the chamber by their leather collars; they were forced to face each other, their noses almost touching. Although powerful, big dogs, they appeared cowed and terrified. Their handlers left them there and retreated back towards the doorway where we were standing. The shaman suddenly brought his hands down and clapped loudly three times. On the third clap, the dogs were instantly transformed from timidity to aggression and leaped forward savagely.
The fight was fast and furious: they tore at each other with their teeth, the first blood being drawn in just seconds. It was cruel and horrible and I couldn’t bear to look, so I cast my eyes down to the ground. Unfortunately my ears were still open to what was happening. Eventually one of the dogs let out a shrill cry and then fell silent. There was a burst of applause, a few cheers and the odd curse of disappointment from the losers. When I looked up, the winning dog was being led back to its cage; the losing animal was lying on its side with its throat torn out, fresh blood soaking into the sawdust.
* * *
I was forced to witness another three contests, each time terrified that one of Bill Arkwright’s dogs would be dragged out to fight. And what if they made two of them fight each other? I’d no doubt that the shaman had the power to make them kill their own kin.
But, to my relief, the fighting was at last over for the night and the gamblers got to their feet and started to leave. I was frog-marched back to my cell and left in the darkness once more. Why had I been taken to watch that cruelty? I wondered. Was it simply sadism – a wish to make me suffer in anticipation of what was going to happen to Claw, Blood and Bone? It wasn’t long before my question was answered …
There was a shimmer in the darkness by the tunnel; a luminosity in the air. I stood up in alarm. Was it the buggane in its spirit form? But the shimmer quickly assumed an appearance of solidity, taking a shape I recognized: a tall, skeletal figure with a cruel expression, dressed in a dark robe. It was the shaman, Lord Barrule. Although somewhere else within Greeba Keep, he was projecting his spirit into my cell.
‘The buggane certainly wants you, boy,’ the apparition said. ‘It likes what it sniffed, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Did you enjoy what you saw tonight?’
I shook my head.
‘It could have been much worse. I could have pitted your own dogs against each other. The mother against her whelps perhaps. It could still be done …’
I didn’t reply. I had rarely seen such malevolence and cruelty in a face. This man was capable of anything.
‘I’d spare your dogs if you were willing to put your own life on the line. You’ve seen my gambling friends – I’d like to offer them some special entertainment tomorrow night: a spook’s apprentice in combat with a witch. Who would prove victorious? The outcome is uncertain enough to make it interesting, even though the odds are firmly on the witch. But you’d be free to use the tools of your trade. I’ve left you your silver chain and I’ll return your staff. Defeat the witch and I’ll let you go. You can even take your dogs with you. But lose and I’ll make them fight to the death!’