Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
The creature attacked again, but my heart was steady and my focus on the task was increasing. The blur of orange light moving towards me resolved itself into a shape. Its intent was clear, for its mouth was open, revealing two sets of teeth. The upper ones were long fangs; the lower ones were smaller and thin, like needles. The beast’s arms were held wide, ready to embrace me in a hug of death.
Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
It was working. I was beginning to control time. Every step the creature took towards me was slower. Its whole body was rippling with urgency but now it was hardly moving. Now I was running towards it. I hefted the sword, putting into the blow all the strength that I could muster – along with the fury and anguish I felt at the news about my master.
The blade sliced into the creature’s neck, cutting the head clean off. It hit the floor hard and rolled away into the dust under the bookshelves. The body tottered and took another step towards me, black blood spraying out of the severed neck. Then it collapsed at my feet, the blood forming a widening pool around it.
I’d felt a strange satisfaction on striking that blow. It was almost as if the blade had moved with me; we’d combined to deliver the perfect killing stroke. Grimalkin had trained me in its use, but I’d moved on from that. It truly was the Destiny Blade; our futures were now bound together.
I stepped back to avoid the blood, but I didn’t sheathe the sword. Some creatures of the dark had incredible powers of regeneration, so I had to stay on my guard. But this one did something else.
The orange light that had illuminated the creature from within suddenly floated up to form a helix, a slowly twisting spiral that hovered just above the body, then shot off, passing through the wall to my left and disappearing from sight.
Immediately a nauseating stench of rot filled the room. The body at my feet was just visible in the glow of the ruby eyes in the sword hilt. It began to bubble, an acrid steam rising from it. I stepped back, placing one hand in front of my mouth. It was decomposing rapidly. What had left it? I wondered. Its soul? What kind of creature was I dealing with?
With a heavy heart I remembered what it had said about the Spook. Could he really be dead? It was hard to accept. A lump came into my throat. I couldn’t just leave the house without being sure one way or the other. I needed to search for him.
I lit the candle stub again and approached the other door; the one that Mistress Fresque had used. I had assumed that it led to her living quarters, but to my surprise I found myself in a very small room with stone steps going down into the darkness.
What was below – a cellar? Is that where she’d gone each time she’d left us? Did the bell ring somewhere down there?
I began to descend the steps, the sword in my right hand, the candle held aloft in my left. I had switched them because the staircase curved away widdershins, in an anti-clockwise direction, and this way I had more room to deploy the blade. I was counting the steps, and realized that the cellar must be very deep. My count had already reached forty when they straightened out, and I saw below me what looked like the cellar floor. After two more steps I came to a halt. In the small pool of yellow light cast by the candle I could see bones scattered across the floor. One glance told me that they were human; some were covered in blood. I could see a skull and part of a forearm amongst the other fragments. This was the lair of creatures who fed on the blood and flesh of humans. I wondered if any of these bones belonged to my master.
I suddenly realized that there could well be another creature like the one I’d slain. Perhaps Mistress Fresque was waiting down here in the darkness, ready to leap on me.
Then I heard a noise, and a cold gust of wind blew out the candle again. I waited, hardly breathing, and put the stub in my breeches pocket. Then I gripped my sword with both hands and went into a crouch, ready to defend myself. The blade began to glow once more, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw red points of light moving towards me. There were a dozen or more. I heard a low growl to my right; another directly ahead. I began to tremble, and the ruby-red light from the sword quickly faded. There were eyes – too many eyes! How many of the creatures were there?
In a panic, I turned and ran up the steps, away from the threat. I blundered across the library, crashing into shelves, feeling rotten wood crunching beneath my boots. My terror intensified when I couldn’t find the door, but the light from the sword flared briefly, showing me the way. I hurried along the passage and out of the house.
Once on the path, I started running. Once again I heard noises, as if some large creature was keeping pace with me. That made me run even faster, and soon I’d left Bent Lane behind and was sprinting through the deserted streets.
I didn’t stop until I’d crossed the bridge. Even then I didn’t feel safe, and after I’d got my breath back I walked on until I’d left Todmorden behind. And as I walked I thought of Judd. What was his part in all this? He had visited Chipenden to hasten our visit to Todmorden. Surely he must have known what he was leading us into. I felt bitter and angry. Was he another of the Spook’s apprentices who had gone to the dark?
Then, on the edge of the moors, I sheathed the sword, crawled under a hawthorn hedge and, completely exhausted, fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
I awoke to find that the sun was already high in the sky. My mouth was dry and my limbs ached, but the worst thing was my sense of shame. I had run from the threat in the cellar. No – not just run: I had fled in a cowardly panic. I’d been a spook’s apprentice for more than three years now, but I couldn’t recall another occasion when I’d behaved so shamefully. I’d faced terrible things from the dark and somehow found the courage to stand and fight. So what had been different this time? All I could think of was that the years of fear, fighting the dark and being in continual danger had finally taken its toll. What if I’d lost my courage? How then could I function as a spook?
And there was something even worse to face. What if my master was still alive? I’d abandoned him. He deserved better than that – much better. I got to my feet and began to walk slowly back towards Todmorden. This time I would stand and fight.
IT WAS ALMOST noon, but there were no hawkers or market stalls; few people were about on the west side of the town. As I walked through the narrow streets, I counted no more than half a dozen, and the last of these, the old gentleman with the stick we’d spoken to before, hobbled across to the other side of the street to avoid me. Then, as I approached the river, I saw Mr Benson sitting on his cart amongst the trees, some distance from the bridge.