We emerged into the pale pre-dawn light. The blizzard had blown itself out but it was still snowing lightly. The Spook was waiting just outside the entrance and he reached down, offering me his hand. I let the black candle fall into the snow and gripped his left hand with mine; he pulled me up onto my feet. Immediately afterwards the feral lamia followed me out, scrambling up onto the snow.
I opened my mouth to speak but my master put a finger against his lips to signal silence. 'All in good time. You can tell me later,' he said. 'Is Morgan dead?'
I nodded and bowed my head.
'Well, this can be his tomb,' said the Spook.
With those words he moved across and gripped the edge of the stone, manoeuvring it into position. He balanced it on the edge of the hole, and when he was satisfied, let it drop back into place. That done, he went down onto his knees and, using his bare hands, began to cover the stone with loose earth and snow. At last, satisfied, he came to his feet.
'Give me the book, lad,' the Spook commanded.
I held it out to him, glad to be rid of it. The Spook lifted it up and glanced at the cover. When he transferred it to his other hand, bloodstains remained on his fingers. With a sad, weary shake of his head he led the way down off the heights of the moor and back towards his winter house. And each time I glanced back over my shoulder I could see that the two lamia witches were following close behind.
Once back, the Spook led me into the kitchen, fed the fire with coal and, as the flames took a hold, started to cook breakfast. At one point I offered to help but he waved me back into my chair.
'Gather your strength, lad,' he told me. 'You've been through a lot.'
Once I could smell the eggs cooking and the bread toasting I felt a lot better. Meg and her sister had gone down into the cellar but I didn't like to mention them. It was best to let the Spook tell me what had happened in his own time. Soon we were both at the table tucking into big plates of eggs and toast. At last, feeling a lot better, I mopped my plate and sat back in my chair.
'Well, lad, do you feel well enough to talk? Or shall we leave it until later?'
'I'd like to get it over with,' I replied. I knew that once I'd told him all that had happened, I'd feel a lot better. It would be the first step in putting it all behind me.
'Then start right at the beginning and leave nothing out!' said the Spook.
So I did exactly as he instructed, starting with my talk with Alice on the hillside, when she'd told me where to find Morgan, and finishing with the climax of the ritual - the arrival of Golgoth and how he'd threatened me after Morgan had died.
'So Morgan must have made a mistake,' I said. 'Golgoth arrived inside the pentacle-'
'Nay, lad,' said the Spook, shaking his head sadly, 'he must have recited the ritual word for word. You see, I'm to blame. I have Morgan's blood on my hands.'
'I don't understand. What do you mean?' I asked.
'I should have sorted him out then, after he tried to summon Golgoth all those years ago,' the Spook said.
'Morgan was very dangerous and beyond help even then. I knew that and should have put him in a pit, but his mother, Emily, begged and pleaded with me not to do it. He wanted power and was bitter and twisted with anger but she believed that was because life had treated him unfairly and he lacked a father to stand by him. I felt a bit sorry for the lad and cared for his mother so I let my heart rule my head. But deep down I knew that it wasn't a father he lacked. Mr Hurst and I had both tried to be that to him. No, what he really lacked was the discipline to be a spook, the courage and perseverance to dedicate his life to a craft that carries little in the way of worldly rewards. But instead of punishing him for trying to summon Golgoth, I simply terminated his apprenticeship and made him swear to me and his mother that he wouldn't pursue Golgoth or the grimoire.
'Cast out with no trade, Morgan sought power and wealth through necromancy and turned to the dark. I knew that each winter the temptation of Golgoth's power would grow, eventually becoming too much for him. So I set a trap for him, but only if he actually tried to summon the Lord of Winter would that trap be sprung-'
'Trap? What trap? I don't understand.'
'He was always lazy when it came to his studies,' said the Spook, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. 'Language was his weak point and he never learned his Latin vocabulary thoroughly. He was even worse at some of the other languages. He started to learn the Old Tongue in his third year. It was the language spoken by the first men who came to the County, the ones who built the Round Loaf and worshipped Golgoth. The ones who wrote the grimoire. He didn't get very far. He knew how to pronounce it, how to read the Old Tongue aloud, but there were serious holes in his knowledge.
'You see, lad, I couldn't take any chances. Our first duty is always to the County. So years ago I had the grimoire copied. The original text was destroyed and the new version bound within the original cover. Several words were changed in the book to make the rituals useless. But only one change was made to the Golgoth ritual. The word wioutan, which means 'without' or 'outside', was replaced by wioinnan, which means 'within' ...'
'So that's why Golgoth appeared with him inside the pentacle,' I said, astonished at the Spook's trap. He'd kept that secret for years.
'I didn't trust Morgan so I set a snare for him just in case. I went to a lot of trouble having the grimoire copied and changed, but as I said, our duty is to protect the County. Emily knew what I'd done but she had a lot more faith in him than I did. She thought he'd changed his ways and would never try to raise Golgoth again. He swore that to her, and I was there to witness that oath. I never made any bones about where the grimoire was. That desk was always on view and Morgan knew where to come, and eventually I was proved right. He would have come for it years ago but the oath to his mother held him fast. As soon as I heard that she'd died, I feared the worst and realized why Morgan had contacted me back in Chipenden ...'