Henry Luddock made us very welcome when we got back to the farm. Soon we were seated in his kitchen in front of a blazing log fire. He was a big, jovial, red-faced man who hadn't let the threat from the boggart get him down. He was sad at the death of the shepherd he'd hired, but was kind and considerate towards us and wanted to play the host by offering us a big supper.
'Thanks for the offer, Henry' the Spook told him, declining politely. 'It's very kind of you but we never work on a full stomach. That's just asking for trouble.
But you just go ahead and eat what you want anyway' To my dismay that's exactly what the Luddock family did. They sat down and tucked into big helpings of veal pie, while a measly mouthful of pale yellow cheese and a glass of water each was all the Spook allowed us.
So I sat there nibbling my cheese, thinking about Alice in that house where she was so unhappy. If it hadn't been for this boggart, the Spook might have dealt with Morgan and made things better. But with a stone-chucker to face, who knew when he would get round to it now.
There were no spare bedrooms at the Luddocks' and the Spook and I spent an uncomfortable night, each wrapped in a blanket on the kitchen floor, close to the embers of the fire. Cold and stiff, we were up the following morning well before dawn and set off for the nearest village, which was called Belmont. It was downhill all the way, which made progress easy, but I knew that soon we'd have to retrace every step, making the hard climb back up to the farm.
Belmont wasn't very large - just a crossroads with half a dozen houses and the smithy we'd come to visit. The blacksmith didn't seem very pleased to see us, but that was probably because our knocking got him out of bed. He was big and muscular like most smiths, certainly not a man to trifle with, but he looked at the Spook warily and seemed ill at ease. He knew my master's trade all right.
'I need a new axe,' said the Spook.
The smith pointed to the wall behind the forge, where a number of axe-heads were displayed, roughly shaped ready for their final finish.
The Spook chose quickly, pointing to the biggest. It was a huge double blade and the blacksmith looked my master up and down quickly, as if judging whether he was big and strong enough to wield it.
Then, without further ado, he nodded, grunted and set to work. I stayed by the forge, watching while the blacksmith heated, beat and shaped that axe-head on his anvil, every so often quenching it in a tub of water with a great sizzle and cloud of steam.
He hammered it onto a long wooden shaft before sharpening it at the grindstone, the sparks flying. In all, it was almost an hour before the blacksmith was finally satisfied and passed the axe to my master.
'Next I need a large shield,' said the Spook. 'It has to be big enough to protect the two of us yet light enough for the lad to hold at arm's length above his head.'
The blacksmith looked surprised but went into his store at the back and returned with a large circular shield. It was made of wood with a metal rim. It also had an iron centre-boss with a spike, so the blacksmith began by removing this and replacing it with more wood to make the shield lighter. Then he covered the outside of the shield with tin.
By gripping its outer edge, I was now able to hold the shield above my head with both arms outstretched. The Spook said that wouldn't do because my fingers could get hurt and I might drop the shield. So the usual leather strap was replaced by two wooden handles just inside the rim.
'Right, let's see what you can do,' said the Spook.
He made me hold the shield in different positions at different angles and then, satisfied at last, he paid the blacksmith and we set off back towards Stone Farm.
We went up onto the fell right away. The Spook had to leave his staff behind because he had his hands full carrying the axe and his own bag. I was struggling with the heavy shield, glad that he didn't expect me to carry his bag as well. We climbed until we reached the place where the man had died. Then the Spook paused and looked hard into my eyes.
'You need to be brave now, lad. Very brave. And we have to work quickly,' he told me. 'The boggart's living under the roots of an old thorn tree up yonder. We have to cut down and burn the tree to drive it out.'
'How do you know that?' I asked. 'Do stone-chuckers usually live under tree roots?'
'They live anywhere that takes their fancy. But generally boggarts do like living in cloughs, and particularly under the roots of thorn trees. The shepherd was killed at the foot of this clough right here. And I know there's a thorn tree further up because that's exactly where I dealt with the last one, almost nineteen years ago, when young John was just a babe in arms and Morgan was my apprentice. But that's given us a problem because whereas that boggart listened to a bit of friendly persuasion and moved on when I asked, this is a rogue stone-chucker that's already killed so words won't be enough.'
So then, heading due north, we entered the western edge of the clough, the Spook setting a fast pace ahead of me: soon we were both breathing hard. The mud gradually gave way to loose stones, making it difficult underfoot.
At first we kept close to the top of the clough, but then the Spook led the way down the scree until we reached the edge of the stream. It was shallow and narrow but still it boiled across the stones, rushing downwards with such force that it would have been difficult to cross. We continued upwards against its flow, the banks on either side rising up steeply until only a narrow crack of sky was visible overhead. Then, despite the noise of the stream, I heard the first pebble drop into the water just ahead.