So it had taken the Fiend’s head straight back to its creators. They had quickly cut away Thorne’s thumb-bones and left her to die. Now they would be heading for the coast. They needed to return to Ireland to reunite head and body.
So what could I do? I had to follow. I had to try and stop them. But as I sat in the cold grey morning light, with my wrath set aside, I knew that I had little chance of success. My magic was used up, the resource gone. It would not be easy to restore it. My health was uncertain. I could suffer another bout of weakness at any time. And I was alone. Alone against so many.
I needed help, but who could I turn to now? The answer came immediately:
Alice Deane.
She was the only remaining ally I could rely on. Recently all who had tried to help me had died. I had sought out Agnes and Thorne, and both had died as a result. So many had died, including Wynde, the lamia, and the knight whom I had manipulated to serve my cause. Could I do it again, thus placing Alice in danger? Was I right to ask another friend to risk her life?
Grimalkin should not ask such questions. To think like that was to show weakness. I must act and not think too much about the possible consequences.
But I would not seek the help of Thomas Ward or John Gregory. The apprentice was too valuable to risk. He might be the means of finally destroying the Fiend. No, I could not take a chance with his life. Once the head was retrieved and the kretch dead, I would escort him to Malkin Tower. The sooner the better.
As for the Spook, he was past his prime, and in any case had too many scruples. He would not have the stomach for what I must do. So I would simply ask Alice. Two witches together – that would be best. She might be willing to lend me some of her strength.
I pulled my mirror from its sheath and prepared to make contact with her. Three times I tried, but I could not reach her. Even that small magic was beyond me. I was drained and needed replenishing.
I would have to go to her. I would travel to Chipenden, where the Spook was starting to rebuild his house.
I followed the tracks of my enemies, passing north of Pendle and heading towards the Ribble Valley. The tracks went west then, but did not cross the ford; they kept south of the river. That meant they were not heading for Sunderland Point. They would go to Liverpool and seize a boat there.
Moving as fast as I was able, I reluctantly left their trail and crossed the Ribble, heading northwest. I had to go to Chipenden first. It would mean losing perhaps half a day, but I could still catch the witches before they sailed.
I avoided the village itself and began to climb the lane to the boundary of the Spook’s property. Once, I would not have risked entering the garden. But Alice had told me that the boggart that had guarded it was gone, its pact with John Gregory ended when the house burned and the roof collapsed.
Even so, I entered the trees of the western garden slowly and cautiously. In the distance I could see the Spook’s house. As I drew nearer, I also saw trestle tables and huge planks and other building materials. Out of sight, someone was sawing wood. The roof had already been replaced, and a thin spiral of smoke was rising from a chimneypot. Then suddenly I heard distant voices; voices that I recognized.
Although my magic had gone, some witch skills are innate – especially that of sniffing. It was Alice and Tom Ward, the apprentice. The Spook wasn’t with them. No doubt he was warming his old bones close to the fire.
So I crept closer and crouched behind the trunk of a large tree.
‘It just ain’t right, Tom,’ I heard Alice say. ‘Nothing’s changed. No matter what I do, Old Gregory will never trust me. Why can’t I come with you? Try talking to him again.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Tom replied, ‘but you know how stubborn he can be. He wants to set off first thing tomorrow, but we’ll probably only be away for a few days, Alice. You’ll be comfortable here.’
‘I’m probably better off staying here anyway!’ Alice retorted. ‘You two had best go and sort through them mouldy old books. Anyway, you get back to the house, Tom. I’m going for a walk to think things through. Feel better for a walk, I will.’
‘Don’t be like that, Alice. It’s not my fault and you know it.’
But Alice wouldn’t listen and began to stroll in my direction, and after a moment Tom bowed his head and walked back towards the house. As she passed me, Alice glanced in my direction. It was a shock to see her white hair – the result of being snatched away into the dark and tormented by the Fiend and his servants. She smiled, then walked on, leaving the garden and crossing the field towards the lane. She had sniffed out my presence and had worked out the situation – she knew that I didn’t want to be seen by Tom.
I followed her down into the lane, where she moved under the shadow of some trees and waited for me. Before leaving Ireland, she had contacted me to tell me of her experiences when she’d been taken into the dark. I couldn’t get used to the sight of her white hair.
Her eyes widened as I approached. ‘Where’s the Fiend’s head?’ she demanded.
‘Our enemies have it, Alice. They seized it yesterday, and they’re now taking it to the coast – to Liverpool, I think. I need your help!’
Alice looked afraid – and with good reason. If the Fiend’s supporters succeeded in reuniting the head with the body, the Fiend would walk the earth once more. Tom and Alice no longer had the blood jar as a means of defence. His first act would be to seize them and drag them off into the dark, and then they’d face an eternity of torment.
‘What sort of help? What can I do?’
‘My magic’s gone, Alice, all used up.’
‘Magic ain’t everything,’ Alice said. ‘You’re Grimalkin. You can use your blades. Hunt ’em down one by one. What’s wrong with you? Never heard you talk like this. What am I supposed to do?’
‘My blades won’t be enough, Alice. There are too many of them. I need my own magic to deflect theirs, and to be able to cloak myself and retain an element of surprise. Then there’s the kretch – it was specially made to kill me and take back the head. It’s formidable. It’s already killed one of the lamias left to guard Malkin Tower. Its claws are coated with a deadly poison. It hurt me badly, Alice; now I am plagued by bouts of weakness.’
‘My aunt, Agnes Sowerbutts, could help. Some wouldn’t agree, though I reckon she’s the best healer in Pendle.’