‘Who wrote this?’ I asked Slake.
‘It is in my hand,’ she replied. ‘It was originally written by Zenobia in code, the text scattered throughout her notebooks. She appeared in a vision to us and granted me the key to unlock this account.’
‘What were the sacred objects of which she spoke?’
‘One of them is in the trunk,’ she replied. ‘The other is elsewhere.’
‘Where is the other one?’
‘I do not know.’
‘What is the one in the trunk? Show it to me!’ I demanded.
Slake shook her head and regarded me sideways from the corners of her eyes. ‘I may not show it to you. Zenobia has dictated that only Thomas Ward may see it.’
I nodded. ‘Then guard it well until he can return to this place. You said he must come here soon. How urgent is it?’
‘He must visit well before Halloween. Otherwise it may be too late.’
‘Our need to destroy the Fiend is indeed urgent,’ I replied. ‘But why this Halloween? What is its significance?’
‘There is a cycle of such feasts. The most propitious occurs every seventeen years. In October it will be thirty-four – twice seventeen – years since Zenobia hobbled the Fiend.’
‘So we have until then …?’
Slake nodded. ‘That is all the time that remains.’
But for the problem of the kretch and the other enemies who pursued us, I would have gone directly to Chipenden and brought Tom Ward to the tower to begin his search of the chests. But how could I lead them here and place him in danger?
I must destroy my enemies first. And time was short. It was already late in the month of April.
At last it was time to make our escape north, so I climbed up onto the battlements, carrying the leather sack, flanked by Thorne and Slake. I looked down across the clearing towards the dark line of enclosing trees. There was heavy cloud above and a slight breeze from the west. The poor light would help us to escape unseen. I sniffed quickly three times.
The kretch and the mage were absent, but one witch remained – perhaps as a spy. I would give her something to report back!
I untied the sack, drew forth the severed head of the Fiend and held it up high, facing towards the spot where I knew the witch to be hiding.
‘I smell the blood of a witch!’ I cried. ‘Did you not heed my warning yesterday? The blame for what I am about to do will fall upon you and you alone. Imagine what tortures the Fiend will devise to pay you back for this!’
With these words I drew a dagger and readied it to plunge the blade into the Fiend’s remaining eye. There was a cry of distress from the trees, and then the sound of running feet diminishing into the distance.
I smiled and spat on the Fiend’s forehead again. ‘You may keep your second eye for a little while longer,’ I said before returning him to the sack.
That done, Thorne and I thanked Slake and took our leave, sensing her sadness. She had shared her sister’s life for centuries and was now alone.
We made our escape through the tunnels. There were no enemies lying in wait at the entrance so we headed north, keeping close to Pendle Hill and passing to the west of Witch Dell. A dead witch only returns to consciousness when the light of the full moon first falls upon her leaf-covered grave. That was still several days away – otherwise I would have entered the dell and paid my respects to Agnes Sowerbutts.
Just south of the village of Downham we turned west and headed downhill towards Clitheroe. There were no lights showing from the town, but a fire blazed on the battlements of the castle confirming that it was occupied.
Suddenly I saw flashes, they were inside my head, flickering a warning in the corners of my eyes.
This time it was about five minutes before the other symptoms began.
I lost my balance, stumbled and fell to my knees. I felt a sharp pain in my chest and I struggled to breathe.
Thorne tried to help me to my feet, but I pushed her away. ‘No, child, leave me – it will pass in a moment.’
But it was a long hour before the world stopped spinning about me and an anxious Thorne was able to help me to my feet again. It would have been better to rest further before entering the ruins of the town but we could not afford the delay. It would not be long before my enemies sniffed the direction I’d taken; soon the kretch would be following our trail once more.
Breathing heavily, I led Thorne down towards the outskirts of the town. The buildings that surrounded the castle were still in darkness but robbers might be lurking there. I came to a halt and knelt on the grass, signalling that Thorne should crouch beside me.
‘I have had heard rumours that Clitheroe is occupied by more than one group,’ I told her. ‘The strongest band of villains will hold the castle itself, the weaker groups taking what shelter they can amongst the ruins of the town.’
‘No doubt they’ll be bickering and fighting amongst themselves,’ Thorne observed.
‘Yes – and that is very much to our advantage as it means that they cannot muster their full force effectively.’
I sniffed the lower reaches of the town for danger and found only sleeping men. We moved cautiously forward past the outlying buildings and into the narrow rubble-strewn streets. Most of the houses were without roofs and the place stank of filth and rot. We began to climb the hill on which the castle stood, picking our way through the streets without being challenged, but at last we came to the high outer stone wall of the fortification. There was no moat and the gate was wide-open. Just outside, a man was sitting on a bench beside a brazier of softly glowing coals. He tottered to his feet looking at me in astonishment. Then a bulky figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.
‘Look, lads! Women!’ the big man cried. ‘What a gift from Heaven!’
I opened my mouth and smiled broadly, showing him my pointy teeth.
His face fell. ‘There’s an old saying – never look a gift horse in the mouth. But it’s best to know the truth,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Yes,’ I said softly, ‘we are a gift from Hell.’
Thorne moved close to my side and drew two daggers.
‘You are mere men! What chance can you possibly have against us?’ I jibed, drawing my own blades, hoping to provoke the two bandits into making a reckless attack. I had sensed others hiding nearby also.
The man lifted his heavy spear and pointed it at us, while more men ran to his assistance from the shadows, gathering at his back. They formed a tight bunch behind him and carried an assortment of weapons. Some looked like they had been in the army; they were most likely deserters, because the war was still being fought to the south of the County. One even wore a tattered uniform with a red rose epaulette. There were only nine of them, and the big man with the spear was obviously their leader.