They were all too preoccupied with their own survival to see us go through the gate which had now ceased its descent. And it was clear that the birds were driving them away from the keep. Of course, the guards’ fear of Lizzie might well make them return later – that’s if they were in any condition to do so.
Just as I’d hoped, the inner portcullis – the one that gave access to the tower – was also raised, and moments later Alice and I were safely inside.
We were now faced with two threats. The most dangerous, of course, was Lizzie herself: she might well kill us outright; at the very least she could take the blood jar or even make me smash it. We might also encounter the threatening creatures we’d heard about, drawn to the area because the witch had meddled with the cache of animas, making it unstable. It would now act like a baleful beacon – a fire lit by witches, summoning powerful entities from the dark.
We began to climb the tower steps, trying to make as little noise as possible. I knew that the odds against us reaching the shaman’s study without being detected were high. I was carrying my rowan staff with the blade at the ready; the silver chain was in the left pocket of my cloak, and I’d filled my breeches pockets with salt and iron. Who knew what we might encounter?
After passing the doors that led to the kitchens and bedrooms, we came at last to the throne room. It was quiet, deserted and dimly lit; just two torches flickered on the wall. We walked along the crimson carpet past the throne to the door and up the flight of steps. In the circular antechamber we paused to listen out once more. Again there was no indication that anyone was around, so we opened the door to the shaman’s study and stepped inside. The room was in darkness but there was a candle on the table. Alice strode forward and picked it up. It ignited immediately, filling the room with a flickering yellow light.
‘Alice!’ I exclaimed in annoyance. She’d used dark magic to light the candle; the first time I’d ever seen her do that.
‘Ain’t no time to waste, Tom! Don’t worry,’ she told me. ‘It’s just a useful little trick, no worse than using a mirror.’
But I did worry; she seemed to be using the dark more and more – and where would it all lead?
There was evidence here that Lizzie had been poking around. The rows of books had been disturbed; there were gaps on the shelves. Three grimoires were now stacked on the table next to the skull. But the large chest still lay in the corner.
‘She’s been searching through these books,’ Alice muttered. ‘Good job I took the notebook, ain’t it? Even if I can’t do anything with it after all, at least I kept it from her. Better get busy …’
With those words, she sat down at the table and looked at the covers of the three books in turn. That done, she selected one, opened it and began to leaf through.
‘Where’s your list of pages to refer to?’ I asked.
‘Don’t be daft, Tom. I wouldn’t bring ’em here in case Lizzie got her hands on them. Pendle witches read stuff once and commit it to memory. All their spells are learned by heart. What I need is in my head.’
I left her reading, went over to the window and peered out into the dark night. The moon was up, and now, below me I could see the courtyard and a section of the wall. Unfortunately this window didn’t overlook the gate so I couldn’t tell whether any of the guards had returned to the keep.
Where was Lizzie? I wondered. If she wasn’t in the tower, maybe she was in one of the other buildings? I suddenly realized that I’d be better off watching from the top of the stairs. Then I’d hear if anybody was on their way up.
‘I’m going to keep watch, Alice,’ I told her.
She nodded, turned over a page and then, head in hands, frowning in concentration, returned to her reading. I went out into the antechamber, leaving the door open. The seven other doors were all closed. One was where the gowns were stored. Another was the bathroom. So there were five bedrooms. A sudden chill ran down my spine. Perhaps Lizzie was asleep in one of them? It would give me the chance I needed. I could bind her with my silver chain.
And suddenly it was as if a flash of light had gone off inside my head. Always trust your instincts – that was what the Spook said. At once I was certain which was Lizzie’s room. Certain also that she was inside.
I leaned my staff against the wall and eased my chain onto my left wrist, ready for throwing. Then, with the other hand, I opened the door very slowly. The room was in darkness, but the torch outside lit the bed, and I could see Lizzie lying there. She was flat on her back on top of the bedclothes, wearing the purple gown.
I moved cautiously towards her.
But the moment I stepped inside I realized my mistake …
It wasn’t Lizzie lying on the bed after all. It was her empty gown!
My limbs felt like lead. It hadn’t been my instincts at all. I’d been lured into a trap. Some spell of compulsion had drawn me to the room. I sank to my knees. What was it – something like a bone-yard? I was finding it difficult to breathe, my body growing heavier by the second. I seemed to be melting right through the floor. As I lost consciousness, I felt myself being lifted up and carried down, down, down …
I heard a groan nearby and opened my eyes. I was lying on my side on damp flags.
There were chains bound tightly around my legs and fastened to an iron ring set into the stone wall. I sat up slowly and manoeuvred myself until my back was resting against the wall. I felt stiff and my head ached. I looked around. I was in a cell that was much larger than the one Lord Barrule had put me in, though it had the same three stone walls and one of earth. There was a torch high up on each of the walls to my right and left, flickering in the chill draught that came from the round hole in the earth wall directly ahead. It was another of the buggane’s tunnels – I realized I was down in the dungeons again.
Where was Alice? I wondered. Had she been taken prisoner too? Had Lizzie found her in the shaman’s study? Or had she been more interested in capturing me?
To my left sat another prisoner, also shackled to the wall; but his head was bowed forward, chin touching his chest, so I couldn’t make out his face – though it was definitely a man, not Alice. Then I realized that there was another figure beyond him, and at the sight of him I gasped in horror, the bile rising up into my throat. I choked, struggling not to be sick. It was a dead yeoman, lying in a pool of his own blood. One of his arms and both legs were missing, his face a ruin; the buggane had been eating him.