It was something I'd been expecting, and soon there were others, forcing me to take the shield from my back and try to hold it over our heads. The Spook was taller than me so I had to hold it up high, and it wasn't long before my shoulders and arms began to ache. Even though I held it at arm's length, the Spook was forced to stoop and progress wasn't comfortable for either of us.
Soon we came in sight of the thorn tree. It wasn't particularly big but it was an ancient tree, black and twisted, with gnarled roots that resembled claws. It stood defiant, having survived the worst of the weather for a hundred years or more. It was a good place for a boggart to make its home, especially a stone-chucker like this, a type that avoided human company and liked to be alone.
The falling stones were getting larger by the minute, and just as we reached the tree, one bigger than my fist clanged onto the shield, nearly deafening me.
'Hold it steady lad!' the Spook shouted.
Then the stones stopped falling.
'Over there . . .' My master pointed, and in the darkness below the tree's branches I could see the boggart starting to take shape. The Spook had told me that this type of boggart was really a spirit and had no flesh, blood and bone of its own; but sometimes, when it tried to scare people, it covered itself with things that made it visible to human eyes. This time it was using the stones and mud from beneath the tree. They rose up in a big whirling wet cloud and stuck to it so that its shape could be seen.
It wasn't a pretty sight. It had six huge arms which, I suppose, were pretty useful for throwing stones. No wonder it could hurl so many so fast. Its head was enormous too, and its face covered with mud, slime and pebbles that moved when it scowled at us, just as if an earthquake were taking place underneath. There was a black slit for a mouth and two large black holes where its eyes should have been.
Ignoring the boggart and wasting no time, as stones started to shower down again, the Spook went straight for the tree, the axe already swinging down as he reached it. The gnarled old wood was tough and it took quite a few blows to lop off its branches. I'd lost sight of the boggart, being too busy trying to hold the shield up and ward off the worst of the stones that came our way. The shield seemed to be getting heavier by the minute and my arms were trembling with the effort of holding it aloft.
The Spook attacked the trunk, striking at it in a fury. I knew then why he'd chosen an axe with a double-blade: he swung it both forehand and backhand in huge scything arcs, so that I felt in danger of my life. Looking at him, you'd never have guessed he was so strong. He was a long way from being young, but I knew then, by the way the axe-blade bit deep into the wood, that despite his age and recent ill health he was still at least as strong as the blacksmith and would have made two of my dad.
The Spook didn't chop the tree right down; he split the trunk, then put down the axe and reached into his black leather bag. I couldn't see what he was doing properly because the stones began to rain down harder than ever. I glanced sideways and saw the boggart begin to ripple and expand: huge bulging muscles were erupting all over its body like angry boils. And, as more mud and pebbles flew up, it almost doubled in size. Then two things happened in quick succession.
The first was that a huge boulder fell out of the sky to our right and buried itself half in the ground. If that had landed on top of us, the shield would have been useless. We'd both have been flattened. The second was that the tree suddenly burst into flames. As I said, I didn't get a chance to see how the Spook managed it, but the result was certainly spectacular. The tree went up with a great whoosh and flames lit up the sky, sparks crackling away in every direction.
When I looked left, the boggart had vanished, so with trembling arms I lowered the shield and rested its lower edge on the ground. No sooner had I done so than the Spook picked up his bag, leaned the axe against his shoulder and, without a word or a backward glance, set off down the fell.
'Come on, lad!' he called after me. 'Don't dawdle!'
So I picked up the shield and followed, not risking even a glance backwards.
After a while the Spook slowed down and I caught him up. Ts that it?' I asked. Ts it over?'
'Don't be daft!' he said, shaking his head. 'It's only just begun. That was just the first step. Henry Luddock's farm is safe now but that boggart will strike again somewhere else very soon. There's a lot worse to come yet!'
I was disappointed because I'd thought the danger was over and our task completed. I'd been really looking forward to a hot, tasty meal, but now the Spook had dashed my hopes because we'd have to carry on fasting.
As soon as we got back, he told Henry Luddock that he'd got rid of the boggart. The farmer thanked him and promised to pay him the following autumn, directly after the harvest; five minutes later we were on our way back to the Spook's winter house.
'Are you sure that boggart will come back? I really thought the job was done,' I told the Spook as we crossed the moor, the wind blustering at our backs.
'In truth, the job's half done, lad, but the worst is yet to come. Just as a squirrel buries acorns to eat later, a boggart stores reserves of power where it lives. Mercifully, that's now gone, burned away with the tree. We've won the first big battle, but after a couple of days spent gathering strength, it'll start plaguing somebody else.'
'So are we going to bind it in a pit?'
'Nay lad. When a stone-chucker kills so casually, it needs to be finished off for good!'