'The dead have had their lives. It's over for them. But we're still living and can use them. We can profit from them. I want what Gregory owes me. I want his house in Chipenden with that big library of books that contains so much knowledge. And then there's something else. Something even more important. Something that he's stolen from me. He has a grimoire, a book of spells and rituals, and you're going to help me get it back. In return, you can continue your apprenticeship, with me training you. And I'll teach you those things he's never even dreamed of. I'll put real power at your fingertips!'
'I don't want you training me' I snapped angrily. 'I'm happy with things just the way they are!'
'What makes you think that you've any choice in the matter?' Morgan said, his voice suddenly cold and threatening. T think it's time to show you just what I can do. Now, for your own safety, I want you to sit perfectly still and listen carefully. Whatever happens, don't attempt to leave that chair!'
The room became very quiet and I did as I was told. What else could I do? The door was locked and he was bigger and stronger than I was. I could use my staff against him, but with no real guarantee of success. It was best to play along with him for now, until I could get away and back to the Spook.
A faint sound came out of the darkness. Something between a rustling and a pattering. It was a bit like mice scampering around under the floorboards. But there weren't any floorboards, just heavy stone flags, and I could feel the room start to grow colder. Usually this would be a sign that something was approaching; something that didn't belong in this world. But once again, this cold was different, just as it had been when we'd talked in the chapel.
Suddenly a bell tolled somewhere in the air far above our heads. It was deep and mournful, as if calling the bereaved to a funeral, and so loud that the table vibrated. I could feel it resonating through the flags beneath my feet. The bell tolled nine times in all, each peal fainter than its predecessor. This was followed immediately by three loud raps on the table. I could make out the shape of Morgan and he didn't seem to be moving. The raps were repeated, louder than ever, and the heavy brass candlestick fell over, rolled across the tabletop and crashed to the floor.
In the darkened room, the silence that followed was almost painful and I felt as if my ears were about to pop. I was holding my breath and all I could hear was the thumping inside my head, the rapid beating of my heart. The strange cold intensified and then Morgan spoke into the darkness.
'Sister of mine, be still and listen well!' he commanded.
Then I heard the patter of dripping water. It sounded as if there was a hole in the ceiling and it was dripping onto the centre of the tabletop, where the candle had been.
Next a voice answered. It seemed to come from Morgan's mouth. I could just about make out the outline of his head and I could swear that his jaw was moving, but it was a girl's voice and there was no way a grown man could have imitated its pitch and intensity.
'Leave me be! Let me rest!' cried the voice.
The noise of dripping water grew louder and there was a faint splashing, as if a puddle had formed on the tabletop.
'Obey me and then I'll let you rest,' cried Morgan. 'It's another I wish to speak to. Bring him to this place and then you may return from whence you came. There's a boy with me in this room. Can you see him?'
'Yes, I see him,' the girl's voice answered. 'He has just lost someone. I sense his sadness.'
'The boy's name is Thomas Ward,' Morgan said.
'He mourns his father. Bring his father's spirit to us now!'
The cold began to lessen and the water ceased its dripping. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Was Morgan really going to summon Dad's spirit? I felt a sense of outrage.
'Aren't you looking forward to speaking to your father one more time?' Morgan demanded. 'I've already spoken to him and he told me that all your brothers visited his deathbed to say goodbye but you, and that you even missed his funeral. He was sad about that. Very sad. Now you'll both have a chance to put things right.'
I was stunned by that. How could Morgan possibly know what had happened? Unless he really had been in contact with Dad's spirit...
'It wasn't my fault!' I said, angry and upset. T didn't get the message in time.'
'Well, now you're about to get the chance to tell him that yourself...'
It started to grow colder again. Then a voice spoke to me across the table. Morgan's jaw was moving again but, to my dismay it was Dad's voice that came out of his mouth. There was no mistaking it. Nobody could possibly have mimicked somebody else's voice so perfectly. It was as if Dad were sitting facing me in the chair opposite.
'It's dark' Dad cried, 'and I can't even see my hand before my face. Someone light a candle for me, please. Light a candle so that I can be saved.'
I felt terrible thinking of Dad alone and afraid in the dark. I tried to call out and reassure him but Morgan spoke first.
'How can you be saved?' he said, his voice deep and powerful and filled with authority 'How can a sinner such as you go to the light? A sinner who always worked on the Lord's day?'
'Oh, forgive me! Forgive me, Lord!' Dad cried. 'I was a farmer and there were jobs to be done. I worked my fingers to the bone but there were never enough hours in a day. I'd a family to provide for. But I always paid my tithes, holding nothing back that belonged to the Church. I always believed, truly I did. And I taught my sons right from wrong. I did all that a father should.'