At that moment something happened that was more frightening than any night terror.
I heard the dull thud, thud, thud of footsteps approaching my bed, accompanied by the sizzle of burning wood. I tried to open my eyes but my eyelids were too heavy; my breath came in ragged gasps, my heart beating painfully in my chest. I sensed something huge close to the bed; something reaching towards me. Then I felt hot breath on my face, smelled the fetid stink. And a voice I knew only too well spoke right beside my left ear. It was the Fiend:
‘You’re almost mine now, Tom. I can nearly reach you. Just a little while longer and the jar will fail! Then you’ll be mine!’
I opened my eyes, expecting to see his huge head with its curved horns and mouthful of sharp teeth. But to my relief there was nothing. I scrambled out of bed, and soon realized that it had been more than a dream: here too a set of hoof prints had been burned into the floorboards. They were scorched deeper than on the last occasion in my room at the inn. Time was running out. The power of the blood jar was almost at an end.
* * *
I didn’t tell either Alice or the Spook what had happened. Why add to their fears? It was something that we could do nothing about. I just had to hope that Grimalkin would arrive soon.
After breakfast we walked down to the dungeons with Shey and three armed guards to begin questioning the prisoner.
‘He’s had neither food nor water,’ Shey remarked as we approached the cell door. ‘That should loosen his tongue a little.’
Two of the guards joined us inside the cold damp cell while the other locked us in with the mage and stood guard outside. No chances were being taken, and the powers of our enemy were certainly not being underestimated.
The cell was spacious and clearly designed for the interrogation of prisoners. Although there was no place to sleep, other than a pallet of straw in a corner, it contained a table and three chairs, one with leather straps to confine a captive. Deftly the Spook uncoiled his silver chain from the mage, who was quickly gagged and then had his arms tied behind his back. Finally he was strapped into the chair, and the Spook and Shey seated themselves, facing him across the table.
There was a candle on the table and a torch in a wall bracket beside the door, providing ample light for what we needed. There was also a large jug of water and two small cups. Alice and I stood behind the Spook and Shey, while the two guards positioned themselves close to the prisoner’s chair.
‘We are going to ask you a few questions,’ Shey said, his breath steaming in the candlelight. ‘You would be wise to answer truthfully. Failure to do so will lead to dire consequences. Do you understand?’
The mage nodded. At a sign from Shey, a guard pulled the gag from his mouth. Immediately the prisoner began to choke and cough; he seemed to be struggling for words.
‘Water – give me water, please!’ he begged at last, his voice hoarse.
‘You’ll get water in a while,’ Shey told him. ‘But first you must answer our questions!’ Then he turned to the Spook and nodded.
‘Why does the goat ceremony sometimes fail?’ my master asked without delay.
‘I will tell you nothing!’ the mage replied with a scowl. ‘Nothing at all!’
‘We’ll get it out of you one way or the other,’ said Shey. ‘There’s a hard way or an easy way. You choose …’
‘Whether I live or die here is of no concern to me.’
‘Then you’re either a brave man or a fool!’ snapped Shey. ‘No doubt the latter,’ he added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small metal implement, which he placed on the table before the mage. It looked like a pair of tongs. ‘There will be pain before you die. Terrible pain! Is that what you want?’
The Spook scowled and his eyes flashed. ‘Just what do you mean by that?’ he demanded of Shey, pointing down at the implement.
Farrell Shey picked up the tool, which I now saw was more like blacksmith’s pliers. ‘This is a versatile instrument,’ he said quietly, ‘which can be used in various ways to persuade a reluctant prisoner to talk. It can crush fingers or extract teeth.’
‘I don’t hold with torture!’ The Spook’s voice was angry. ‘And only a fool uses it. Subject someone to pain and they will say anything just to bring it to an end. Many who are falsely accused of witchcraft confess under torture. The temporary relief from the pain is soon followed by the greater pain of execution and death. So put away that implement or I’ll continue with this no longer!’
I felt proud to be a spook. We were honourable in the way we went about our work.
Shey scowled and pursed his lips in anger, but nevertheless he returned the instrument of torture to his pocket. No doubt the long years of strife between the mages and the landowners had caused great bitterness, with atrocities committed by both sides. The dark was growing in power and it corrupted even those who opposed it. I had compromised myself, using the dark in order to survive, so I was in no position to judge anyone.
My master then repeated his question: ‘The goat ceremony – why does it sometimes fail?’
The mage hesitated, but then fixed his eyes on the Spook and muttered, ‘It is because what we do is not pleasing to our god.’
‘But don’t you know what pleases him?’ asked the Spook. ‘You’ve been carrying out your dark rituals for centuries. Surely you must know by now?’
‘It depends on many things. These are variables which cannot be predicted.’
‘What variables?’
‘I thirst. My throat is dry. Give me a little water and I will tell you …’
On impulse, and not waiting for Shey’s response, I stepped forward, picked up the jug and poured a little water into the nearer of the two cups, then held it to the mage’s lips and tilted it slightly. The man’s Adam’s apple wobbled as he gulped the water eagerly. Once he’d finished I spoke for the first time since entering the room.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Cormac,’ the mage replied.
Shey scowled at me, but the Spook smiled and nodded as if he approved of my initiative.
‘Now, Cormac,’ he said. ‘What are the variables?’
‘The choice of goat is important. It becomes the sacred host which our god, Pan, must enter. He will not assume the body of one that is not pleasing to him. Seven goats are selected initially. Together we must choose the best. The process is not easy. Our seers debate our choice for days.’