Poor Grimalkin, I thought. Much of her potency as a witch assassin relied on her speed – that whirling dance of death was what made her so formidable. She would no longer be such a powerful opponent.
‘Come back at noon,’ the Spook instructed. ‘I’ll meet you at the edge of the western garden.’
With a nod, the doctor went off down the hill.
We decided that Grimalkin would have to be observed at all times in case she took a turn for the worse. The Spook sat with her for the rest of the day; I volunteered to take over at sunset.
I sat beside the bed, staring at her anxiously and wondering what had happened to Alice. Grimalkin muttered in her sleep, and sometimes gave a low groan, but showed no sign of regaining consciousness. I felt helpless, but I did what I could, occasionally mopping the sweat from her brow or lifting her head and holding a cup of water to her lips – though each time this brought on a fit of choking.
Her breathing was hoarse and irregular. Sometimes it seemed to stop for almost a minute; each time this happened I thought she was dead. Then, about half an hour after midnight, there was a change. Grimalkin’s breathing became steadier, and then she finally opened her eyes and looked at me.
She tried to speak, opening and closing her mouth, but no words emerged. Then her face twisted with pain and she attempted to sit up, so I pulled the pillows into position behind her back and helped her upright. I held a cup to her lips, and this time she was able to sip without choking.
She stared at me for a long time in silence. At last I could hold back no longer.
‘Alice?’
Grimalkin dropped her gaze, as though unable to meet my eyes. Then she replied with one word: ‘Lukrasta!’
I knew the name. Lukrasta appeared in the Spook’s Bestiary in the section that dealt with mages. He was supposed to have been the dark mage who had written that grimoire in the first place, taking dictation from the Fiend! Despite this, he had died while attempting the full Doomdryte ritual. He’d supposedly made an error and been destroyed.
‘Do you mean the mage who died?’ I asked.
‘No! No! Not dead,’ Grimalkin protested, struggling to speak, her voice very faint; I had to lean over the bed and bring my ear close to her lips. ‘When Alice opened the grimoire to begin the ritual, he appeared before us, right out of thin air. He took us by surprise. Blasted us with power. Later the Fiend’s servants attacked.’
‘Where’s Alice?’
Grimalkin shrugged. ‘I was stunned. Befuddled. Far less than what I am . . . Too many to hold off . . . Didn’t see what happened to Alice . . . Think Lukrasta has her.’
Alice was the prisoner of Lukrasta! What exactly had happened? I had to know.
Grimalkin began to cough, and I brought the cup to her lips again. This time she drank greedily, draining every drop.
‘They have the Fiend’s head,’ she continued. ‘They’ll try to return it to Ireland . . . Reunite it with the body . . . You have to go after them. Bring it back!’
‘Which direction did they take? Did they go west?’
‘I didn’t see – but, yes, I expect they’ll have gone west towards the coast. No doubt they’ll follow the river . . . It’s up to you to find them.’
With the help of the kretch, a creature fathered by a daemon, the Fiend’s servants had seized the sack from Grimalkin once before. They had boarded a boat north of Liverpool, but had been thwarted by Alice, and Grimalkin had recaptured the Fiend’s head. Would they make for the same place again or go north to the main County port, Sunderland Point?
‘How many are left?’ I asked.
‘A dozen or more – certainly enough to have slain me had they pressed home their attack. Others will surely join up with them later.’
I wondered what I could do alone. By now they could have reached the river estuary and headed south, or maybe crossed by the Priestown bridge and gone north.
‘They’ll probably have too much of a start on me,’ I said. ‘They’ll have set sail before I can reach the coast.’
Grimalkin seized me fiercely by my collar and drew me close so that our noses were almost touching. Wounded as she was, I could feel the strength in her grip. Her eyes blazed into my own.
‘Only you can do it!’ she hissed. ‘If they cross the sea to Ireland, then you must do the same. Follow them as far as is necessary! You’re not a boy any longer. You’re a man. You have the sword. Was Bone Cutter still in my hand?’
‘Yes, it’s safe.’
‘I know Alice gave you the other dagger, Dolorous. You have all three blades now, and the gifts from your mam. What’s more, you’re a seventh son of a seventh son. So go and do what’s necessary. Kill anyone who stands in your way, but bring back the Fiend’s head!’
GRIMALKIN COLLAPSED BACK against her pillow, fighting for breath, her eyes closed. The effort had exhausted her. I quickly left the room and went to find the Spook. As I expected, he was sleeping in his chair in the kitchen, close to the embers of the fire.
‘My turn is it, lad?’ he asked, opening his eyes at the sound of my boots crossing the flags towards him. He thought I’d come to wake him for his turn to watch over Grimalkin.
I realized I had to make my mind up about how much to tell him. I decided to leave out any reference to Alice and Grimalkin’s use of the Doomdryte. He would have considered that unforgiveable, and the greatest of follies. I just concentrated on the need to recapture the sack and its contents.
I shook my head. ‘Grimalkin said I had to go after those witches and try to recover the Fiend’s head.’
‘The odds against you are very great, lad. You might well be going to your death.’
‘It’s death and worse for all of us if those witches reunite the head with the body.’
I thought my master would protest more, but all he did was apologize.
‘I’d go with you if I could,’ he said sadly, ‘but I haven’t the speed for such a pursuit. You’d never catch them with me dragging at your heels.’
As quickly as I could, I prepared for my journey. I didn’t take my bag because it would only hinder me. I wouldn’t need my silver chain – I wouldn’t be taking any prisoners to bind in pits. Salt and iron would also be an unnecessary encumbrance. So I wore the sword and the two daggers in their sheaths and, carrying my staff, prepared to set off into the night.