A New Darkness (3 page)

“That’s not a problem,” she said with a smile. “We should spend all our lives learning, and I know you already have lots to teach me. I can help by doing chores as well. I could have collected your food from the village and saved you the bother. I could make your breakfast, too. My mam says I’m a good cook.”

“I don’t need anyone to make my breakfast,” I said, not bothering to explain that I had a boggart that did that already. “How did you know I’d been down in the village collecting provisions?”

“I watched you going into the shops. Then, when you went into the last one, I ran up here to wait for you.”

“How did you know it was the last one? Have you been spying on me?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t call it spying, but yes, I’ve watched you for a couple of weeks and I know your routine—you go to the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, and finish at the baker’s shop. I’ve seen enough to make me realize that you are the one who should train me.”

“Listen, I’d better tell you what’s what so that you won’t get your hopes up. To become a spook’s apprentice you have to be a seventh
son
of a seventh son. That gives you some immunity against witches and enables you to see the dead and talk to them. That’s the basic qualification. I might as well be blunt. You’re a girl, and you just don’t qualify.” I picked up my bag, nodded at her, and started to climb over the stile.

“I’m a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,” she said. “And I
can
see the dead. Sometimes they talk to me.”

I turned and looked back at her—a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter with those powers . . . ? I’d never heard of such a thing.

“I’m sure you can,” I replied, “but I just don’t need an apprentice. Have I made myself clear?”

Then I headed for the house, putting her from my mind.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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3

Bad Things Happen

I
spent the afternoon and evening in the library. The house had been burned to the ground a couple of years ago, and John Gregory’s original library, a vast collection of books—some of them written by generations of previous spooks—had been destroyed.

The house had been rebuilt, but the library was far more difficult to replace.

Now the new shelves were mostly empty. They housed a very small collection of books. These included a few notebooks of my own and my master’s, including his Bestiary, the illustrated dictionary of the entities he’d encountered during his years as a spook defending the County against the dark.

I sat at the desk and began to write up the happenings of the previous day in my notebook. I’m sure John Gregory would have had much to say on the subject, but I was alone now, and it was up to me to find an explanation. The library couldn’t help me. I was getting nowhere and needed a plan.

The following morning I woke up early, no nearer to finding an answer to the mystery. It was too soon to go down to breakfast. The boggart became very angry if you went into the kitchen before it was ready for you, and it was not wise to annoy such a dangerous creature.

So I went outside and strode toward the western garden. It was a good place to think. The weather had turned, and I was surprised to find a thin coating of hoarfrost on the grass. The air was unusually cold for late August, much colder than I’d expected. Even in the County, which was known for its long winters, we didn’t usually get the first frosts until late September or early October. It could well be that winter would come early this year, more severe than ever.

I sat down on the bench and gazed toward the fells, listening to the birdsong and the hum of insects. This was where my master used to teach me. I would sit taking notes while he paced back and forth.

His grave lay near the bench, the mound of earth now covered with grass. I read the words on the gravestone. I’d chosen them myself.

The Spook had served the County well. He’d been a good master, and as I thought about him, tears came to my eyes.

I reflected on the years of training he had given me, and all his warnings against the dark; his instructions on how to deal with it. We’d faced many foes, but malevolent witches had been some of our most dangerous enemies. We had fought them, and captured them, and bound them in pits within his garden.

But a change had come. We weren’t strong enough by ourselves, so we had been forced to compromise in order to have any hope of finally defeating the Fiend. So, even though it had made my master uncomfortable, we had formed an alliance with Grimalkin, the witch assassin of the Malkin clan.

I remembered how Grimalkin had helped us, on so many occasions. She had forged a sword especially for me, and I had carried it during our final struggles to destroy the Fiend—a sword that, while I wore or held it, would protect me from dark magic. Grimalkin had named it the Starblade because she had crafted it from the ore of a meteorite.

I had carried the sword into battle gratefully, but afterward, sickened by all the killing and the death of John Gregory, I had told her that I would never use it again—that I would become the Spook my master had trained me to be and use only the weapons of my trade.

Suddenly I was roused from my thoughts by the ringing of the bell down at the withy trees. I went back to the house, pulled on my cloak, grabbed my staff from where I’d left it leaning against the wall by the back door, and set off at a brisk pace to answer the summons.

As I moved out of the morning sunlight and into the gloom of the willow trees that shrouded the crossroads, the bell stopped ringing. That sometimes happened. People lost patience and returned home. Or sometimes they were nervous about meeting a spook, persuading themselves that there would be no response and escaping while they could.

At first I thought that this was what had happened here. The rope was still dancing and the bell swinging. Perhaps the sound of my approach through the trees had sent my visitor home. Well, no doubt whoever it was needed help, so I decided to set off in pursuit.

I walked up to the bell and examined the flattened grass, searching around to discover which way the tracks led.

“You took your time!” The voice came from behind me. “I was starting to think that you’d left on a job.”

I spun round angrily, recognizing the voice. The girl from yesterday was smiling at me, arms folded, legs slightly apart, head held high.

“I thought I made myself clear,” I said. “You are wasting my time—and your own. I neither want nor need an apprentice.”

“A man never knows what he wants until he’s got it!” she replied, her smile widening into a grin. “Then he wonders how he ever managed without it.”

Her grin was infectious, but I didn’t allow it to work on me. “Look . . .” I attempted a different approach. “It’s a very dangerous job. People die learning the spook’s trade. I was my master’s last apprentice, and there’d been twenty-nine before me. A third of them died violent deaths during their training. The one before me, Billy Bradley, got his hand trapped beneath a big stone that he was using to bind a ripper boggart. It bit off the fingers of his left hand at the second knuckle, and he died of shock and loss of blood.”

“Bad things happen,” she said, no longer smiling. “I had a cousin who was a laborer. He got crushed between a farm wagon and a gatepost. It took him almost a week to die. He kept the whole village awake with his screams.”

“I’m sorry that your cousin died, but
that
was an accident.
My
job is a constant war against the creatures of the dark; they kill us if they get half a chance. John Gregory’s own master, Henry Horrocks, was once tracking a boggart known as a bone breaker. As they crossed a field, it struck without warning, tearing off his apprentice’s hand at the wrist. It was being controlled by a witch, and she wanted it to bring her his thumb bones. The poor lad died. There was nothing Horrocks could do to save him. If you became my apprentice, there’s no guarantee that you’d even survive the first six months.”

“Now you’re talking,” the girl said brightly, the smile returning to her face once more. “You’re considering the possibility, aren’t you?”

I shook my head, regretting my words. My patience was rapidly running out, but I tried to remember my dad’s advice about being polite. I spoke to her calmly and firmly. “You’re a girl, and so not suitable for the job, as I told you yesterday. You’re too old as well. My master took me on for training when I was only twelve. How old are you?”

“As old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth,” she replied.

I turned my back in exasperation, ready to return to the house.

“John Gregory trained for the priesthood first,” she said to my back. “He was almost twenty when Henry Horrocks took him on, but he turned out to be an excellent spook. I’m easily young enough to learn the trade.”

“How do you know that? Who told you that about John Gregory?” I demanded, stopping and turning around.

She smiled mysteriously, answering my earlier question instead. “I’m fifteen,” she said brightly. “I’m just two years younger than you. We have the same birthday—the third of August.”

“You’re making that up!” I snapped angrily.

It was late August now, and yes, she was right about the date of my birthday. How could she know that? She really
had
been spying and digging for information.

“Why should I make things up?” she asked. “I like strange things, and the truth is often stranger than fiction. That’s what my mam once told me, anyway. Don’t you agree?”

I turned again and headed for the house, and didn’t look back this time. She was really starting to annoy me.

The boggart had cooked the bacon to perfection that morning, and my fried eggs were exactly the way I liked them—just slightly runny. I cut thick pieces of warm bread and buttered them before smearing them with yolk. I managed to eat about half the meal. My appetite was improving a little, though it was still nothing like it had been; previously I’d have polished off that breakfast and still been hungry.

“My compliments to the cook!” I announced, and in response I heard a purring from underneath the table. Kratch always liked to be thanked. For a couple of seconds it flickered into view; it was licking its ginger tail.

The movement suddenly reminded me of what the dead girl, Miriam, had told me about the creature that had killed her.

“It wore a long coat like a man’s, but it was definitely some kind of animal, because its arms were hairy and it had a long tail.”

Did it walk upright? It had clambered up onto her chest—so not necessarily. But it was unlike any creature I’d read about in my master’s once-extensive library. I suddenly realized that it might well have left some unusual tracks. It was certainly worth taking a look.

So after breakfast I collected my bag and staff and set off over the fells toward Caster. I could have visited Broughton or Penwortham, where I’d managed to send the other two murdered girls to the light, but it seemed best to go where the trail would be freshest. My destination lay northeast of Caster. I was going back to Kirkby Lonsdale, where the spirit of the dead girl had actually seen and remembered her killer. Now I was going to have another look at the surrounding area.

I would hunt for the beast that wore clothes.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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4

Where the Beastie Lives

I
T
was pleasant walking high across the fells, looking down upon the County. To the west, in the far distance, the sea sparkled in the sunlight. The air was still chilly for the time of year, but the sun had some warmth, and it felt good to be alive.

I found a sheltered hollow about five miles south of Kirkby Lonsdale, trapped a couple of rabbits, and cooked them slowly. The walk had improved my appetite; it was the first food I’d had since breakfast, and I savored every mouthful before settling down for the night. I fell asleep quickly despite the temperature, which dropped quickly once the sun had set.

I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night and sat up, my heart racing. I had a strong feeling that I was being watched, that something was out there in the darkness, gazing at me.

I held my breath and listened carefully. I could hear nothing but the wind sighing through the grass. There was no coldness warning me that something from the dark was out there. It was probably nothing, I told myself—maybe just a fox hoping to scavenge something from the leftovers of my supper.

However, it left me feeling uneasy, and it was a long time before I got to sleep again.

In the morning, clouds had raced in from the west, threatening rain. I nibbled a piece of cheese for my breakfast. My master had taught me to eat sparingly when about to deal with the dark. You needed to maintain your physical strength, but the odd nibble of cheese sufficed for that. Not that my stomach agreed! It was rumbling with hunger, but I couldn’t afford to listen to it. I might soon come face-to-face with the murderous creature.