Five minutes later we’d left the garden and were striding southeast. I was carrying both bags, as usual, as well as my staff. In addition to his own staff, the Spook had also brought a lantern, as dawn was still some way off. I didn’t know how far we had to go.
The source of my unease proved to be much nearer than I expected.
Years earlier, when I first met Alice, she had been staying in the area with Bony Lizzie and an abhuman called Tusk. Lizzie’s plan had been to rescue Mother Malkin from a pit in our garden, and also to kill my master, John Gregory. They had all been living in an abandoned cottage southeast of the Spook’s house. Of course, they failed, and the cottage had been burned out by local people who were outraged by the proximity of a dangerous witch.
Now I could just glimpse that cottage through the trees, and the nearer we came, the more certain I was that this was the source of my fear.
The lantern-light showed us the first of the dead bodies: a man lying on his back, his eyes wide open; rain streamed down his face like tears. Blades were still clutched in both dead hands, but they had availed him not. His throat was cut from ear to ear.
There were other bodies closer to the blackened walls of the cottage – maybe a dozen or more. Most were female, and almost certainly witches. They were armed with blades, some lashed to the ends of long poles in the Pendle manner. All had died violent deaths. Their wounds were fresh and there was a lot of blood splattered on the grass.
All was silent, but I was drawn to the cottage. I led the way in, trembling at what I might find there. The doors and windows had been burned out years ago and never replaced. All at once, in the gloom, I saw someone propped up against a far wall. At first I thought it was another dead body. Could it be Alice? The thought made me tremble with anguish.
My eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but when my master came in behind me, the lantern illuminated a terrible scene.
I saw that it was the witch assassin, sitting in a pool of her own blood. She was breathing hoarsely and her eyes were half closed. It was hard to tell whether she was conscious or not. Her body was covered in stab wounds that looked like open mouths.
She was still gripping a skelt dagger in her left hand. This was Bone Cutter, the blade I’d loaned her to help in her running battle with the Fiend’s supporters. Additionally, her left leg had been broken just below the knee. I could see a piece of bone jutting through the flesh.
Of the leather sack containing the Fiend’s head there was no sign.
I just stared down at Grimalkin helplessly, feeling emotions surge through me; a torrent of terrible possibilities churned through my mind.
I had never imagined a situation where she would be bested in combat. How could this have happened? I wondered. The servants of the Fiend had been hunting her for a long time. They were numerous and relentless, and a number of them were very powerful – it was perhaps inevitable that they would finally prevail. She had put up a good fight – as the dead bodies scattered around the cottage showed.
My heart sank even further as I suddenly remembered that Grimalkin and Alice had been planning to use the Doomdryte. Is this where they had been hiding and preparing for the ritual?
If so, where was Alice now?
My thoughts were still racing and I couldn’t move. I stared dumbly as the Spook knelt close to the witch assassin.
‘I’ll make a splint for her leg,’ he said, coming to his feet, ‘but I can’t do much for her wounds – she’s lost a lot of blood. We’re close to the western boundary of Clegg’s farm. He has a cart. Run there and get him to bring it here. We need to get her back to Chipenden and a doctor. There may still be a chance to save her. Stop gawping, lad! Run!’
SO I RAN – but nothing proved to be straightforward. Clegg was a very sound sleeper and he apparently lived alone. I woke the dogs all right, but it was a good fifteen minutes before the farmer came to the door, bleary-eyed and cantankerous, wielding a stick.
‘What time do you call this to come knocking on my door fit to wake the dead? Be off with you, before I give you a taste of this!’
‘My master, John Gregory, sent me. Could he borrow your horse and cart? There’s somebody badly injured over at the ruined cottage. We need to get them to a doctor.’
‘What? Ye want my cart? Who’s injured? Nobody lives in that cottage. It’s a ruin.’
‘Look, there’s been a fight. People are dead. But there’s one still alive and we can save her. We need your cart. Don’t worry – my master will pay you well!’
At the offer of money, Clegg led me to an outbuilding; he found it locked and had to go back to the house for the key. At last we dragged the cart out and harnessed it to a horse.
By the time I’d got the cart back to the cottage, almost an hour had passed. I expected the Spook to complain about my delay, but he said nothing. He’d made a fire and boiled water in a small pan he’d found in the kitchen.
After cleaning up Grimalkin’s wounds as best he could, he’d managed to push the bone back into place and had used two thin branches as rough splints on each side of the leg. He was binding them into position when I arrived. Grimalkin was still unconscious, her breath rasping through her open mouth. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and her upper body twitched as if gripped by a fever.
The dagger lay on the ground beside her. I picked it up and tucked it into my belt.
Carefully, we lifted her up into the cart and set off for the Spook’s house. Once there, we carried her upstairs and put her in my bed. Then my master sent me off to fetch the local doctor. Fortunately he was at home and within half an hour was treating his patient.
When he took his leave, we walked him across the garden to the boundary, protecting him from the boggart. There he halted and shook his head. ‘By rights she should be dead,’ he said.
‘As you saw, she’s no ordinary woman,’ the Spook replied.
‘I’ve known you a long time, Mr Gregory,’ the doctor said. ‘The people around here owe you a lot. You’ve kept this village safe. The whole County is in your debt. So I won’t ask why you’re harbouring a witch.’
‘I have good reason. I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary for the good of us all. Now I need your opinion. Will she live, do you think?’
‘If she survives the night, she has a chance. But even then she won’t be out of danger. There’s the risk of infection. And if she does survive, life will never be quite the same for her again. It’s an extremely bad break. She’ll have a permanent limp. Anyway, I’ll come back tomorrow and see how she’s doing.’