Dawn brought a better day. The sky had cleared and the wind had dropped. Although still chilly, the late February morning suggested the approach of spring.
The fisherman had called this the Haunted Isle, but its other name, the ‘Emerald Isle’, was hopefully more apt – though in truth the County was just as green. We were descending a grassy slope; below us lay the city of Dublin, its dwellings hugging both banks of a big river.
‘What’s a jibber?’ I asked the Spook. As usual, I was carrying both our bags and my staff. He was striding along at a brisk pace, making it hard for Alice and me to keep up.
‘I don’t rightly know, lad,’ he said, glancing back at me over his shoulder. ‘It’s probably the local name for something we’re already familiar with – that’s the most likely explanation. For example, what we call a boggart is known as a bogle or even a bogeyman in some parts of the world.’
There were many types of boggart, ranging from bloodthirsty rippers to relatively harmless hall-knockers that just thumped and banged and scared people. It was odd to think that some folk called them by different names.
I decided to tell my master what I’d seen in the storm the previous night. ‘Remember when that squall hit us?’ I said. ‘I saw something strange in the dark cloud overhead – a pair of eyes watching us.’
The Spook came to a halt and stared at me intently. Most people would have been incredulous; others would have laughed openly. I knew that what I was saying sounded crazy, but my master was taking me seriously.
‘Are you sure, lad?’ he asked. ‘We were in danger. Even the fisherman was scared – although he tried to play it down later. In situations like that the mind can play strange tricks on us. Our imaginations are always at work in that way. Stare at the clouds long enough, and you can see faces in them.’
‘I’m sure it was more than just my imagination. There were two eyes, one green and one blue, and they looked far from friendly,’ I told him.
The Spook nodded. ‘We need to be alert. We’re in a land that’s strange to us – there could be all sorts of unknown dangers lurking here.’
With that, he set off ahead again. I was surprised that Alice hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation; she had a worried expression on her face.
Just over an hour later we smelled a whiff of fish on the air; soon we were threading our way through the narrow, congested streets of the city, heading towards the river. Despite the early hour, there was noisy hustle and bustle everywhere, people pushing their way through, street traders haranguing us from every corner. There were street musicians too – an old man fiddling and several young boys playing tin whistles. But despite the chaos, nobody challenged our right to be in the city. It was a far better start than we’d had in Mona.
There were plenty of inns, but most of them had notices in their windows saying that they were full. At last we found a couple with vacancies, but at the first the price proved too high. My master had scarcely any money left, and hoped to get us accommodation for three or four nights while we managed to earn some. At the second inn we were refused rooms without any real explanation. My master didn’t argue. Some folks didn’t like spooks; they were scared by the fact that they dealt with the dark and thought that evil things would never be far away.
Then, in a narrow back street about a hundred yards from the river, we found a third inn with vacancies. The Spook looked up at it doubtfully.
‘No wonder they got empty rooms,’ said Alice, a frown creasing her pretty face. ‘Who’d want to stay here?’
I nodded in agreement. The front of the inn needed a good lick of paint, and two of the first-floor windows and one on the ground floor were boarded up. Even the sign needed attention; it was hanging from a single nail, and each gust of wind threatened to send it tumbling down onto the cobbles. The name of the inn was the Dead Fiddler, and the battered sign depicted a skeleton playing a violin.
‘Well, we need a roof over our heads and we can’t afford to be too fussy,’ said the Spook. ‘Let’s seek out the landlord.’
Inside, it was so dark and gloomy that it might have been midnight. This was partly caused by the boarded windows but also by the large building opposite, which leaned towards this one across the narrow street. There was a candle flickering on the counter opposite the door, and beside it a small bell. The Spook picked up the bell and rang it loudly. At first only silence answered his summons, but then footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and the innkeeper opened one of the two inner doors and entered the room.
He was a thick-set, dour-looking man with lank greasy hair that fell over his frayed collar. He looked down in the mouth, defeated by the world, but when he saw my master, he took in the cloak, the hood and the staff, and instantly his whole demeanour changed.
‘A spook!’ he exclaimed eagerly, his face lighting up. ‘To be sure, my prayers have been heard at last!’
‘We came to enquire about rooms,’ my master said. ‘But am I to understand that you’ve a problem I could help you with?’
‘You are a spook, aren’t you?’ The landlord suddenly glanced down at Alice’s pointy shoes and looked a little doubtful.
Women and girls who wore pointy shoes were often suspected of being witches. That was certainly true of Alice; she’d received two years’ training from her mother, Lizzie the bone-witch. She was my close friend, and we’d been through a lot together – Alice’s magic had saved my life more than once – but my master was always concerned that one day she might again drift towards the dark. He frowned at her briefly, then turned back to the innkeeper.
‘Aye, I’m a spook, and this is my apprentice, Tom Ward. The girl’s called Alice – she works for me, copying books and doing other chores. Why don’t you tell me why you need my services?’
‘You sit yourselves down over there and leave your dogs in the yard,’ said the landlord, pointing to a table in the corner. ‘I’ll get you some breakfast and then tell you what needs to be done.’
No sooner were we seated than he brought across another candle and set it down in the centre of the table. Then he disappeared into one of the back rooms, and it wasn’t long before we heard the sizzle of a frying pan and a delicious aroma of cooking bacon wafted through the door.
Soon we were tucking into large steaming platefuls of bacon, eggs and sausages. The landlord waited patiently for us to finish before joining us at the table and beginning his tale.