Slake bowed to us, though not as deeply as she had before the gibbet. The front of her dress was saturated with blood that had spilled from the bucket. Strangely, her face looked less human than when I had last seen her on the battlements. The eyes were savage, the mouth like a red wound that her own sharp teeth might have devoured from within.
‘I’m sorry to bring you bad news,’ I said softly, ‘but your sister died bravely fighting the kretch. Then the merciless creature ate her heart.’
Not even a flicker of emotion passed across the lamia’s face. ‘I already know,’ she replied. ‘I sensed the moment of her death. That is why I was praying.’
‘To whom do you pray?’ I asked. ‘Which god is it?’
‘It is the god of all lamias, of course.’
I frowned. ‘I do not know of this god.’
‘We call her Zenobia. She was the first – the ancestor of us all. You were with her in Greece. She is the mother of Thomas Ward, the Spook’s apprentice.’
‘But she was destroyed fighting the Ordeen.’
Although I was not witness to the event, Tom Ward had told me how his mother, in her winged form, had held the Ordeen in a death grip. But as they fought, her citadel had been consumed by a pillar of fire and carried back into the dark.
‘Not destroyed – her spirit lives on. She has spoken to us. She gave me instructions just then as I prayed.’
I remembered how close Tom Ward had been to his mother. If she had spoken to this lamia, surely she must have communicated with him too?
‘Instructions … concerning what?’ I asked.
‘She commanded me to stay here without my sister and defend the tower against our enemies. Above all, I must protect the trunk, which contains information that might aid her son in his attempts to destroy the Fiend.’
‘You’ve already searched that trunk and read the books. What did you learn? Tell me and I will pass it on.’
‘It is not straightforward – far from it. Many ages ago Zenobia was in conflict with the Fiend. She tried in vain to destroy him – though she did manage to “hobble” him by means of dark magic, thus placing a limit on his power. These are the terms of that hobble: if he kills Thomas Ward himself, then he’ll reign on in our world for a hundred years before he’s forced to retreat back to where he came from. But if he enlists the services of one of his children to do the deed – the son or daughter of a witch – then the Fiend can rule on in the world indefinitely. Then there is a third way: if he can convert the boy to the dark, his dominion will also last until the end of the world.
‘If we study the manner in which the hobble was imposed we may get an idea of how we can move forward – how the Fiend might finally be destroyed,’ Slake continued. ‘Zenobia believes that her son might glimpse something that she has missed. There could well be some loophole, a gap into which something new and efficacious may be added.’
I had heard about the hobbles before from Alice Deane. This was the first confirmation that Tom’s mother had been responsible. That limitation on the Fiend’s power had been vital – otherwise he would have slain Tom Ward years ago. I suspected that the Fiend still hoped to convert the boy to the dark. The apprentice had certainly been moving slowly in that direction, being forced to compromise his beliefs by using a blood jar and allying himself with witches. But I suspected that the Fiend’s hatred for Tom and his need for vengeance would drive him to slay the boy the moment he was freed from the binding.
‘If you stay here in this tower, how will you survive without food?’ Thorne asked.
‘I will go hunting for it,’ the lamia replied. ‘My sister and I hoped to learn what was required and then escape from this refuge in human form and carry the knowledge to the apprentice. Now all has changed. What we seek is beyond our powers of understanding. Very soon the boy must return here and study the books for himself. I have already begun the process that will return me to the feral form. For a few weeks I will have to survive by drinking the blood and eating the flesh of rats, but once my wings are grown I will take to the skies and hunt larger prey – firstly animals, but eventually those who slew my sister.’
I nodded. ‘But can you defend the tower alone?’
‘It will be hard at first, but I can do it. Later, once I am fully transformed, they will not dare to attack. And the kretch is too large to enter the tunnels.’
‘Then I think it best that Thorne and I leave while we can. Besides,’ I said with a grim smile, ‘I do not share your taste for rats.’
Slake nodded. ‘You will leave immediately?’
‘No, not until this time tomorrow night. First I will walk the battlements with the head of the Fiend. Immediately after the death of your sister, in revenge, I put out one of his eyes with my dagger. If our enemies are nearby, then I will put out the second eye, just as I promised. But they know their master will hold them to account for what he suffers. I expect the wood to be free of witches so that we can travel some distance before being pursued again.’
‘Where will we go?’ Thorne demanded.
‘I think that Clitheroe is probably the best option,’ I told her.
‘They say it’s now a ruined town, full of bandits and cutthroats,’ Thorne observed.
‘Then what could be a more fitting place?’ I answered with a thin smile.
For a long time Clitheroe Castle had held its own against the occupying forces. When it had finally fallen, starved out by siege, in revenge the enemy had put the defenders to the sword and burned the town. Now it was a ruin, but the fortification still stood.
The enemy had been defeated and driven south, but very few of the original inhabitants had returned to Clitheroe to rebuild their homes. Instead it had become a hideout for murderous robbers who pillaged the countryside west of Pendle. No doubt, in time, troops would be sent to put an end to such lawless activities, but in its present state it was just what we needed. We might well be able to get into the castle, seize it from those who currently occupied it and take refuge there.
But first we had to leave Malkin Tower undetected and escape north through the woods.
A true knight has a strict code of chivalry by which he lives his life: he cannot refuse a challenge and he always keeps his word. I also have a code of honour, but it is flexible.
WE SPENT OUR remaining time in the tower resting to regain our strength for the ordeal ahead, but ate sparingly of the pieces of mutton that Wynde had brought us. Slake would need it more than us; soon she would have to survive on a diet of rats.