The stronger the enemy, the greater the power that is now stored within each bone. But it is finite. Once a bone is drained of power, it must be replaced.
First I touched those of Janet Fox; she was strong and we had fought for two hours beneath the afternoon sun. I drew out the power that was left; now her bones would need to be replaced. The bones of Lydia Yellowtooth I didn’t drain completely. She was subtle in combat – I needed some of that subtlety now, but chose to save a portion for later. So I continued to turn the necklace, fingering the bones. At last I had what I needed.
I was ready.
I run at full tilt towards the kretch. With every stride the rational part of me, my calculating mind, warns of just how difficult it will be to win here. The creature is far bigger than I estimated. Although in form it resembles a wolf, in size it is more like a small horse. In addition to those muscular arms with their long, sharp-taloned fingers, there are pouches around its hairy body. These are not leather straps and sheaths; they are formed of its flesh, and weapons protrude from them.
But I have the instincts of a warrior and great self-belief. Whatever the odds, I will win. I am Grimalkin!
Without breaking stride, I stop my heart from beating. It is a skill that I have practised over the course of many years. My blood quietens: there are no peaks and troughs of surging circulation to spoil my aim. I draw a throwing knife from its scabbard and hurl the blade straight at the creature’s head.
My throw is accurate and I find my target. However, to my annoyance and frustration, the blade does not penetrate the hide, but skids across the hairy head to fall harmlessly into the long grass. A metal helmet could not have provided a more effective defence.
Then I see a gleam of blood in the dark fur. I have cut the flesh but the skull beneath is strong and thick, a bone barrier against my blades.
Surely the rest of the body cannot have similar defences? The movement of the sleek, lithe creature that runs towards me with such fluidity and grace says otherwise. There must be points of weakness. I will find them and the creature will die.
So I test its body, hurling a second blade straight at its flank. Its reactions are quick and it twists away so that the blade misses. I allow my heart to resume its beating.
Now the kretch rushes at me from a different angle. I am still sprinting forward and the long blade is in my left hand; this is the one I use for fighting at close quarters.
Matching me move for move, the kretch also draws a long blade from a pouch on its shoulder. It uses its left hand. The talons of its right hand are ready to receive me too. But now I have decided exactly what to do. I know how I may swiftly win this battle and continue my flight with the Fiend’s head.
There is a mighty clash as we come together; the kretch growls, showing its sharp fangs, and stabs towards my head. The stench of its rancid breath fills my nostrils as I duck under the blade and skid feet first beneath it. Sliding down the wet grassy slope beneath its furry body, I swing right and left with my blade, cutting into both hind legs, severing the hamstrings.
The creature gives a cry and collapses back onto its haunches, its blood spurting onto the grass. But I have already rolled clear, and I run back up the hill towards the leather sack, which I swing firmly up onto my shoulder. I look down the slope again and smile in triumph. The creature is howling, desperately trying to pull itself up the incline towards me with its strong forelimbs.
Oh, Mr Wolf! Now you are limping!
Its hind legs drag uselessly behind it. Thus hamstrung, it can never catch me now. No doubt its creators will find the beast and put it out of its misery. I am pleased with what I have achieved, but I had expected the struggle to be more difficult. Yet it is good to triumph over my enemies.
My heart light now, I run on towards Pendle. I am filled with the exultation that comes from victory. Even the rain has stopped. There are gaps in the cloud and soon the sun will shine. As for my other pursuers, I have left them far behind.
I sat cross-legged on the grass and made myself comfortable. Next, I plucked the Fiend’s head out of the sack and, holding it by the horns, placed it on a grassy bank so that it was almost level with my own.
I removed the green apple and the thorns and waited patiently for our conversation to begin. It always began in exactly the same way.
‘Unstitch my eyes!’ the deep voice cried. The Fiend’s words seemed to vibrate up through the grassy bank.
‘Why repeat yourself? Will you never learn to accept your lot? Your eyes will remain stitched. Be grateful that I allow you a little time to speak. Don’t waste it. Have you anything to tell me? Anything worth listening to?’
The Fiend did not reply, but beneath the lids the eyeballs were moving frantically. Then the mouth opened as if he were speaking to someone, but I could hear nothing.
‘Are you in communication with someone?’ I demanded. ‘Have you been conversing with one of your servants? If so, I will put you back in the sack!’
‘My servants speak to me all the time, whether I am able to reply or not. They tell me things. I have just learned something very interesting.’
The mouth smirked, as if relishing what it had been told, and dribbles of blood and saliva ran down its chin. I did not give the Fiend the satisfaction of asking what he knew. He was going to tell me anyway. I just had to be patient.
‘It is done,’ he said at last. ‘You are finished – as good as dead. Soon I will be free.’
‘I maimed the kretch that your servants created. So do not build up your hopes.’
‘Soon enough you will see the truth, witch – very soon, in fact!’
‘What? Truth from the Father of Lies?’ said I, laughing contemptuously.
Always mindful of the Fiend’s comfort, I plucked a big bunch of stinging nettles and spread them within the sack to make him a restful bed. Next, I thrust the green apple and rose thorns back into his mouth.
‘Sleep well! Sweet dreams!’ I cried, tying the string to bind him into the sack.
An hour before sunset I halted and set traps for rabbits. It was a warm pleasant evening and the grass had dried. I was already on the edge of Pendle District, and the hill itself was clearly visible to the northeast.
I decided to use my mirror to make contact with Alice Deane and see if she, Tom Ward and the Spook had reached the County safely. It was a week since I had last been in touch with her. At that time they had been about to leave the southwest of Ireland and travel overland by coach to Dublin to take a boat home. I was well ahead of them: I had already landed south of Liverpool and made my way northwards, keeping close to the coast before I’d had my first contact with the Fiend’s servants west of Ormskirk.