The Spook's Mistake

CHAPTER 30 The black barge

After another week at the mill the Spook set off for Chipenden without me. It seemed that I had no choice but to stay with Arkwright and complete my six months of training.

It was hard, and to add to the ache in my heart there was physical pain. Long before the end of my time there I was covered in bruises from head to foot. Our practice sessions with staffs were brutal, with no quarter given. But in time I sharpened my skills, and despite the difference in size and strength between me and Arkwright, gradually I began to give as good as I got. On at least two occasions my speed almost enabled me to get the better of him, and when the doctor visited the mill, it wasn't only my injuries that he tended.

Arkwright had changed. Now that his mam and dad had gone to the light a lot of his pain and anger had dissipated too. He drank rarely and his temper was much better. I much preferred the Spook as my master, but Arkwright taught me well, and despite his rough ways, I learned to respect him. In addition to the training I received, we went out to deal with the dark together sometimes — once far to the north beyond the County's border.

Time passed: a cold winter gradually gave way to spring, and at last it was time for me to return to Chipenden. By now, Claw had two puppies, a dog and a bitch, which Arkwright named Blood and Bone. On the morning I left they were play-fighting together in the garden while Claw guarded them jealously.

'Well, Master Ward, at one time I thought you'd be taking the bitch back with you to Chipenden but, fond as she is of you, I think she dotes on those two whelps even more!'

I smiled and nodded. 'I don't think Mr Gregory would be too happy if I took Claw back. Not to mention the fact that dogs and boggarts probably don't mix!'

'Better keep her here then and save your bacon!' Arkwright joked. Then his face grew serious. 'Well, we've certainly had our ups and downs but it all seems to have turned out for the best. The mill's a better place following your visit and I hope you've learned things that'll stand you in good stead.'

'I have,' I agreed. 'And I've still got the lumps to prove it!'

'So if you're ever in need, remember that there'll always be a place for you here. You could complete your apprenticeship with me if it proved necessary.'

I knew what he meant. Things might never be quite the same between me and the Spook. Although he'd acted for the best, I still thought he was wrong in his treatment of Alice. The fact that he'd sent her away would always be an unspoken barrier between us.

So I thanked Arkwright one final time and soon, having crossed the nearest bridge to the far bank of the canal, I was strolling south towards Caster, bag and staff in hand. How I'd once looked forward to this. But things had changed. There would be no Alice to greet me in Chipenden, and despite the fact that it was a fine spring morning, with the sun shining and the birds singing, my heart was right down in my boots.

My intention was to leave the canal bank long before Caster, then pass to the east of the city before making my way across the high fells. I suppose I must have been deep in thought. I was certainly worrying about the future. Whatever the cause, I didn't notice it happening until it was too late. But what could I have done anyway?

A sudden shiver ran the length of my spine and I looked about me and saw that it was dusk and growing darker by the minute. Not only that, but there was a chill in the air, and when I looked back over my shoulder, a thick grey mist was swirling towards me down the canal.

Then, out of that mist, a black barge slowly approached. No horses pulled it and its movement through the water was completely silent. As it drew nearer, I realized that it was no ordinary craft. I'd seen the barges that carried Horshaw coal and they were black with grime; this one was highly polished and there were black wax candles in the prow, burning with fierce flames that didn't flicker. More candles than on a church altar on a holy day.

The barge had neither deck nor hatches and steps led directly down into the darkness of a deep, cavernous hold. One glance told me that such depth was impossible because most canal barges are flat bottomed and canals themselves are not so deep. Yet the manner in which the strange vessel glided through the water was abnormal, and again I had that strange feeling of being in a dream in which the normal rules of life no longer apply.

The barge halted alongside me and I looked down into the depths of that impossible hold and saw a seated figure surrounded by a cluster of even more candles. Although no command was uttered, I knew what I must do. So, leaving my bag and staff on the towpath, I stepped aboard and went slowly down the steps as if in the grip of a nightmare, a cold fear twisting at my stomach while my whole body began to tremble.

In the depths of that hold the Fiend, in the shape of the bargeman, was seated on a throne of the same dark polished wood as the barge. It was intricately carved and adorned with evil creatures straight out of the Bestiary in the Spook's library at Chipenden. His left hand rested on a fierce rampant dragon, its claws lifted aggressively towards me; his right upon a fork tongued snake whose sinuous body trailed down the side of the throne to coil three times around the claw footed leg.

He smiled the smile of Matthew Gilbert but his eyes were cold and venomous. I'd assisted Grimalkin to slay his daughter. Had he summoned me to take his revenge?

'Sit down, Tom. Sit at my feet,' he said, gesturing to the space before the throne, and I had no choice but to obey, sitting down cross-legged upon the planks to face him. I looked up into his face, which was no longer smiling, and felt utterly powerless and at his mercy. And there was something else that I found disturbing. I had no sense of being in a barge upon a canal. I felt as if I were falling, dropping like a stone, the ground hurtling up towards me.

'I sense your fear,' said the Fiend. 'Calm yourself. I'm here to teach you, not destroy you. And if I wanted you dead, there are many others who would be delighted to do me that service. I have other children. And many others who've sworn allegiance to me. You couldn't hope to evade them all.

'I kept my word,' he continued. 'I allowed your companions to live — something I needn't have done because you didn't defeat my daughter alone but had the help of the assassin, Grimalkin. But nevertheless, I did it as a gift to you, Tom, because one day we are going to work together, despite your present reluctance. In fact we are already far closer than you think. But just so that you know exactly what it is you're dealing with, I'm going to reveal a secret.

'You see, there is one of my children whose identity only one other person in this world knows. A special child of mine who will one day achieve great things in my service. I speak of my beloved daughter, Alice Deane. '

For a moment I couldn't take in what he'd just said. I was stunned. His words spun within my mind like black crows in a storm wind and then dived to plunge their sharp beaks into my heart. Alice was his daughter? He was saying that Alice was his daughter? That she was no better than Morwena?

Monsters or witches — those were the offspring of the Fiend. And if one was born human and untainted, he slew it on the spot, as he had done with the child of Grimalkin. But he had allowed Alice to live! Could it be true?

No, I told myself, trying to keep calm. He was just trying to divide us. I remembered what Mam had once said about the Spook, Alice and me:

John Gregory's star is starting to fade. You two are the future and hope of the County. He needs you both by his side.

How could Mam have been so wrong? Or perhaps she wasn't wrong at all. One of the Fiend's names was the 'Father of Lies'. So most likely he was lying now!

'You're lying!' I shouted at last, all my fear of him fleeing, to be replaced by outrage and anger.

The Fiend shook his head slowly. 'Even the Pendle clans don't know it, but it's the truth nonetheless. Alice's real mother is bound in a pit in John Gregory's garden at Chipenden. I speak of Bony Lizzie. When her child was born, it was immediately given into the safekeeping of a childless couple, the father a Deane, the mother a Malkin. But when Alice was older and ripe for training in the dark arts, their usefulness was over. On the night they died, Lizzie came to claim her daughter. That training would have continued but for the intervention of you and your master.'

Bony Lizzie — Alice's mother! Could it be possible? I remembered the first time I'd seen Lizzie. She was supposed to be Alice's aunt and I'd immediately noted the strong family resemblance. They had the same features, very dark hair and brown eyes, and although older, Lizzie had been as pretty as Alice. But she was quite different in many other ways. Her mouth twisted and sneered as she talked and she hardly ever looked you in the eye.

'It's not true. It can't be—'

'Oh, but it is, Tom. Your master's instincts have proved correct as usual. He's always doubted Alice, and this time, but for your feelings and the intervention of Arkwright, would have bound her in a pit next to her mother. But nothing I do is without careful thought and calculation. That is why I agreed to your request to free Amelia's soul. How grateful William Arkwright was! How useful he proved. How eloquent! And now Alice is free at last, beyond the influence and watchful eye of John Gregory, able to return to Pendle, where she will eventually assume her rightful place as leader and unite the clans once and for all.'

For a long time I didn't speak and a feeling of nausea came upon me, the sense of falling intensifying. But then a thought suddenly came into my head to lift my spirits. 'If she's your daughter,' I said, 'then how is it that she's fought so hard against the dark? How is it that she struggled against the witch clans in Pendle, risking her life to stop them bringing you through the portal into this world?'

'That's easy, Tom. She did it all for you. You were all that mattered to her so she became what you wanted and put aside most of her training in witchcraft. Of course, she can never really let it go. It's in her blood, isn't it? Families make you what you are. They give you flesh and bone, then mould your soul into their beliefs. Surely you've been told that before? But things are different now. Her hopes are over. You see, until the night before John Gregory sent her away, Alice didn't know who she really was. We kept it from her until the moment was right.

'That night she tried to contact Grimalkin. Tried to thank her for what she'd done in saving you. She used a pool of water at midnight. But mine was the face that stared back at her. And then I appeared right beside her and named her as my daughter. She didn't take it well, to say the least. Terror, despair, then resignation — that was the sequence of responses. I've seen it all before. Being who she is, Alice now has no hope of continuing as your friend. Her life at Chipenden is over and she knows it. She can no longer be at your side. That is, unless I choose to intervene and make it possible. Everything changes eventually, but sometimes things move in a spiral and we may return to the same point but on a different level.'

I looked at him and locked my gaze with his. Then I answered, the words coming without thought. 'The same point but a different level? For you that could only be downwards. Down towards the dark.'

'Would that be so bad? I am the lord of this world. It belongs to me. You could work alongside me to make it better for everyone. And Alice could be with us. The three of us together.'

'No,' I said, struggling to my feet and turning towards the steps. 'I serve the light.'

'Stay!' he commanded, his voice full of authority and anger. 'We haven't finished yet!'

But although my legs felt as heavy as lead and the sense of falling made it hard to keep my balance, I managed to take one step and then another. As I began to climb, I felt unseen forces tugging me down but I continued to fight my way upwards. When my eyes were able to see beyond the edge of the barge, I was terrified. For rather than the canal bank, beyond the barge there was nothing. I was gazing into absolute blackness; into nothingness. But I took another step, and then another, until the world as I knew it suddenly shimmered into view and I jumped down onto the towpath.

I picked up my bag and staff and continued in the same direction as before. I didn't look back but sensed that the black barge was no longer there. The mist had gone and above my head the sky was bright with stars. I walked and walked mindlessly, too numb for thought.