There was good news and bad news, but most of it was bad. Meg had sniffed me out using her powers as a witch. She knew a lot about me but she hadn't bothered to search me or she'd have found the tinder-box and candle. She'd have found the key too - the key that could open most doors as long as they weren't too complex. So that was the good news. I could get out of my cell. I could open the door to the Spook's cell too.
The bad news was that the key wouldn't be good enough to get me through the gate. Otherwise the Spook wouldn't have kept a special one on top of the bookcase in the library. And Meg had that key now. Even if I could get us both out of our cells, we were still trapped in the cellar. So what I needed to do now was clear enough. I had to talk to the Spook. My master would know what to do for the best.
So I used the key to open the door of my cell. It didn't make much noise, but the cell door seemed to stick and, despite my best efforts, jerked open, making a noise that echoed up and down the steps. I hoped Meg would be upstairs by the kitchen fire and wouldn't have heard. Taking the candle, I tiptoed out into the corridor and held it up to the bars of the Spook's cell. I peered inside but couldn't see much. There was a bed in the corner and a dark bundle on top of it. Was it the Spook?
'Mr Gregory! Mr Gregory!' I called through the bars, the cellar. So, if she'd a mind to escape, maybe even the iron trellis gate wouldn't be enough to stop her for long! As for the bars of my cell, they didn't bear thinking about. My only hope was that the witch was still relatively weak after being in the pit for so long.
I kept perfectly still and listened, doing my best to breathe quietly. I could hear her approaching, scuttling and halting, scuttling nearer and nearer. I pressed myself back into the corner and stopped breathing altogether.
Something touched the door lightly. The next contact with the wood was stronger and there was a scratching sound, as if sharp claws were biting in, trying to get a purchase. It was as if something was clawing its way up the door. I'd run into my own cell without thinking and now I wished I'd locked myself in the other cell with the Spook. I might have been able to wake him up and ask him what to do.
It was dark. Very dark. So dark that, inside my cell, I couldn't tell where the door ended and the walls on either side began. But the oblong, dissected by the four vertical bars, was slightly paler than its surroundings, so there had to be some light on the stairs, shedding a faint illumination of the wall beyond my cell.
A shape moved across the oblong. It was in silhouette but I could see enough to tell that it was something like a hand. I heard it grip the bars. But it wasn't as if flesh and muscle came into contact with them. There was a rasp, almost as if a file had scraped against iron, followed by an explosive hiss of anger and pain. The lamia witch had touched iron and the hurt she was suffering would be severe. Only her will was holding her there. Next, something big moved up in front of the bars, like the disc of a dark moon eclipsing the pale light beyond. It had to be the witch's head. She was peering at me through the bars but it was too dark to see her eyes!
There was another rasp and the door groaned and creaked. I trembled with fear. I knew what was happening. She was trying to bend the bars or pull them right out of the wooden door.
If I'd had my staff of rowan wood I could have jabbed at the witch through the bars and perhaps driven her off. But I had nothing. My silver chain was in my bag, but it was no use to me there. I'd nothing here that I could use to defend myself.
The door groaned and creaked as the pressure on it grew, and I heard it start to buckle. The witch hissed again and made a snuffling, croaking sound. She was eager to get inside, desperate to drink my blood.
But to my relief, there was a sudden clang of metal from up the steps and the lamia let go of the bars and dropped out of sight. I heard the echo of approaching footsteps and candlelight flickered on the wall beyond the bars.
'Back! Back!' I heard Meg shout from beyond the door, followed by the sound of the feral lamia scuttling away down the steps.
Next there was the flicker of candlelight and the click of pointy shoes following the creature down. I stayed where I was, crouched in the corner. After a while the footsteps approached again and I heard a bucket being placed on the floor and a key turning in the lock of my cell door.
Just in time, before Meg opened the door, I pushed my candle stub and tinderbox back into my pockets. Now I was glad that I hadn't locked myself in the Spook's cell or she'd have known about my key.
Meg stood framed in the doorway holding up her candle. With her other hand, she beckoned me to her. I didn't move. I was too scared.
'Come here, boy' she said, chuckling to herself. 'Don't worry. I won't bite!'
I came to my knees but my legs felt too wobbly to allow me to stand.
'Will you come to me, boy? Or do I have to come to you?' Meg asked. 'The first is far easier and less painful...'
This time terror brought me to my feet. She might be 'domestic', but Meg was still a lamia witch whose favourite food was probably blood. The herb tea had made her forget that. But she knew exactly what she was now. And she knew what she wanted. There was compulsion in her voice; a power that sapped my will and made me cross the cell to the open door.
'It's lucky for you that I decided to feed Marcia when I did' she said, pointing down to the bucket.
I looked down. It was empty. I don't know what had been inside it but there was a film of blood in the bottom.
'Almost left it until later, but then I remembered how desperate she'd be to get at you, what with you being so young. John Gregory doesn't have half the attraction' she said with a thin, cruel smile, nodding towards the next cell and confirming for me that the Spook really was in there.