When the steps turned the first corner, there was an iron trellis gate blocking our way. Beyond it, the steps suddenly became much wider so that four people could have walked down side by side. I'd never seen such wide cellar steps before. Not far beyond the gate I could see a door set into the wall and I wondered what was behind it. The Spook took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. It wasn't his usual key.
'Is it a complicated lock?' I asked.
'That it is, lad' he said. 'More complicated than most. If you ever need it, I usually keep this key on top of the bookcase in the study closest to the door.'
When he opened the gate, it made a clanging noise so loud that it seemed to ring right through the stones both upwards and downwards, so that the whole house acted like a huge bell.
'The iron would stop most of 'em getting past this point, but even if it didn't, we'd hear what was going on from upstairs. This door's better than a guard dog.'
'Most of who? And why are the steps so wide?' I asked.
'First things first,' snapped the Spook. 'Questions and answers can come later. First we need to see to Meg.'
As we carried on down the steps, I started to hear faint noises from below. There was a groan and what sounded like a faint scratching, which made me even more nervous. It didn't take me long to realize that there must be at least as much of the house below ground as there was above it: each time the steps turned a corner there was a wooden door set into the wall, and on the third turning, a small landing with three doors.
The Spook paused directly in front of the middle door of the three, then turned to me. 'You wait here, lad,' he said. 'Meg's always a bit nervous when she first wakes up. We need to give her time to get used to you.'
With those words he handed me the candle, turned his key in the lock and went into the darkness, closing the door behind him.
I was left waiting outside for about ten minutes, and I don't mind telling you it was very creepy on those stairs. For one thing, the further down the steps we'd gone, the colder it had seemed to get. For another, I could hear more disturbing noises coming from below, around the next corner out of sight. They were mostly very faint whisperings, but once I thought I heard a distant groan, as if someone or something was having a very bad time of it.
Then there were muffled noises from inside the room the Spook had entered. My master seemed to be talking quietly but firmly, and at one point I heard a woman crying. That didn't last long and there were more whisperings, as though neither of them wanted me to hear what they were saying.
At last the door creaked open. The Spook appeared and someone followed him out onto the landing.
This is Meg,' said my master, stepping to one side so that I could see her properly. 'You'll like her, lad. She's just about the best cook in the whole County.'
As Meg looked me up and down, she looked puzzled. I stared back at her in sheer astonishment. You see, she was just about the prettiest woman I'd ever seen, and she was wearing pointy shoes. When I'd first gone to Chipenden, in my very first lesson, the Spook had warned me about the dangers of talking to girls who wore pointy shoes. Whether they realized it or not, he'd told me, some of them would be witches.
I'd paid no heed to his warning and talked to Alice, who'd got me into all sorts of trouble before eventually helping me to get out of it. But here was my master, ignoring his own advice! Only Meg wasn't a girl; she was a woman, and everything about her face was so perfect that you couldn't help just staring at it: her eyes, her high cheekbones, her complexion.
It was her hair that gave her away though. It was silver, the colour you'd expect in someone much older. Meg was no taller than me and only came up to the Spook's shoulder. Looking at her more closely, you could tell that she'd been sleeping for months in the cold and damp: there were bits of cobweb in her hair and patches of mould on her faded purple dress.
There are several different types of witches and I'd filled pages of my notebooks with lessons the Spook had taught me about them. But I'd discovered what I knew about lamia witches by sneaking a look at books in the Spook's library that I wasn't supposed to be studying.
Lamia witches come from overseas, and in their own lands they feed upon the blood of men. Their natural condition is known as the 'feral', and in that state they aren't like humans at all and have scales covering their bodies and long thick claws on their fingers. But they are slow shape-shifters, and the more contact they have with humans, the more human their appearance gradually becomes. After a while they turn into whaf s known as 'domestic lamias', who look like human females but for a line of green and yellow scales that runs the length of their spine. Some even become benign rather than malevolent. So had Meg become good? Was that another reason why the Spook hadn't dealt with her, putting her in a pit as he had with Bony Lizzie?
'Well, Meg,' said the Spook, 'this is Tom, my apprentice. He's a good lad so you two should get along just fine.'
Meg held out her hand towards me. I thought she wanted to shake mine, but just before our fingers touched, she dropped her arm suddenly, as if she'd been burned, and a worried expression came into her eyes.
'Where's Billy?' she asked, her voice silky smooth but edged with uncertainty. T liked Billy.'
I knew she was talking about Billy Bradley, the Spook's apprentice before me who'd died.
'Billy's gone, Meg,' the Spook explained gently. 'I've told you that already. Don't worry about it. Life goes on. You'll have to get used to Tom now' 'But it's another name to remember,' Meg complained sadly. 'Is it worth the effort when none of them last very long?'