The Spook's Mistake by Joseph Delaney

  'I ask nothing for myself,' the hermit replied, his voice growing stronger with every word. 'But others are in need. Down in the village hungry people live in fear. Free them from that and you shall have what you desire . . .'

  Arkwright spat into the fire and I saw his jaw tighten. 'You mean that lot up at Saltcombe Farm? That press gang? You expect me to sort 'em out?'

  'These are lawless times. When things fall apart, someone must put them back together. Sometimes a farrier must mend a door or a carpenter shoe a horse. Who else is there, William? Who else but you?'

  'How many are there?' Arkwright asked at last. 'And what do you know about them?'

  'There are five in all. A sergeant, a corporal and three soldiers. They take what they want from the village without paying.'

  'A press gang was taking people near Chipenden,' I said with a frown. 'They captured me and I was lucky to get away. Five of them too, so it sounds like the same lot. I don't want to meet them again. One of them's only a boy not much older than me but the sergeant's a nasty piece of work. They're armed with clubs and blades too. I don't think you'd be able to take them on, Mr Arkwright.'

  Arkwright stared at me, then nodded. 'The odds are against me,' he complained, turning to the hermit again. 'There's only three and a half of us – me, two dogs and a lad who's wet behind the ears. I've a trade of my own. I'm not the constable—'

  'You were a soldier once, William. And everyone knows you still like to crack heads, especially after you've been at the bottle. I'm sure you'll enjoy the experience.'

  Arkwright came to his feet and looked down at the hermit, his face filled with fury. 'Just make sure it's not your head I crack, old man. I'll be back before dark. In the meantime get on with it. I've wasted enough time already! Have you got a map of the Lakelands?'

  Judd Atkins shook his head, so Arkwright rummaged in his bag and pulled out a folded map. He placed it in front of the old man. 'Try that!' he snapped. 'Her lair will be there – I'm sure of it. Somewhere close to one of the southern lakes.'

  That said, he left the cave and marched east at a furious pace.

  CHAPTER 14

  A dead man!

  We hadn't travelled far from the hermit's cave when Arkwright stopped, settled himself down on a grassy bank and opened his bag. He pulled out a bottle of red wine, drew the cork with his teeth and started to swig from it.

  I stood there unhappily for a while, wondering if this was the best preparation for dealing with dangerous thugs, but the hermit had made a good point – Arkwright was always much more aggressive after a drink. He must have seen the look on my face because he scowled and gestured angrily for me to sit down.

  'Take the weight off your feet, Master Ward. That, and the misery from your face!' he exclaimed.

  Sensing that his mood was worsening, I obeyed immediately. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and I wondered if he intended to wait until after dark before attempting to deal with the press gang. That seemed the most sensible thing to do. Either that or go in at first light while they were still groggy with sleep. But Arkwright was an impatient man who, probably by choice, often did things the hard way.

  I was right. He soon finished off the wine and we were on our way again. After about ten minutes I came up alongside him. I was curious and wanted to know if he had some sort of plan.

  'Mr Arkwright . . .' I began tentatively.

  'Shut up!' he snarled. 'Speak when you're spoken to and not before!'

  So I dropped back again. I was angry and a little hurt. I'd felt that I was starting to get along better with Arkwright but it seemed that not much had changed. The Spook sometimes silenced me, saying that questions could come later, but he never did it so aggressively and rudely. No doubt my new master's manner could be blamed on the wine.

  Soon we came to a ridge and Arkwright halted, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. I could see a house below, brown smoke drifting up almost vertically from its chimney. It lay at the head of a narrow valley. No doubt it had once been a hill farm specializing in sheep, but now there were no animals to be seen.

  'Well, that's it!' he said. 'Saltcombe Farm. Let's go down and get it over with . . .'

  He strode off down the incline, making no effort to keep out of sight. Once down in the valley, he made straight for the front door, which I expected to spring open at any moment as the gang raced to attack us. When he was less than twenty paces away, he came to a halt and turned to face me, nodding down towards the two dogs.

  'Hold their collars firmly and don't let them go,' he ordered. 'When I shout "Now!" release them. But not before. Understand?'

  I nodded uncertainly and gripped the dogs' collars as they strained forward. If they decided to go, there was no way I'd be able to stop them.

  'What if something goes wrong?' I asked. There were five soldiers inside the house – still probably armed with blades and clubs. I remembered what the old lady had said about the parish constable. They'd beaten him to within an inch of his life.

  'Master Ward,' he said scornfully, 'if there's one thing I can't abide, it's a pessimist. Believe that you can do something and half the battle is won before you start. I'm going to sort this lot out and then get on with my real business. Here, watch this for me,' and he dropped his big bag at my feet. Then he reversed his staff so that the murderous spear was pointing downwards. It suggested that he didn't want to do the soldiers any permanent damage.

  With that, he strode directly towards the front door and, with one kick from his heavy left boot, smashed it open. He went straight in, swinging his staff, and I heard oaths, then shouts of pain and anger from inside. Next a big man in a ragged uniform with blood running down his forehead came running out of the door, heading straight towards me, spitting out broken teeth. The two dogs growled simultaneously and he halted and stared straight at me for a moment. It was the sergeant with the scarred face and I saw recognition and anger flare simultaneously behind his eyes. For a moment I thought he'd decided to attack me despite the dogs but then he turned to the right and ran up the slope.

  I heard Arkwright shout 'Now!' and before I could react, the dogs tore free of my grip and raced towards the open door, barking furiously.

  No sooner had Tooth and Claw entered the house than the remaining four deserters left it. Three fled through the door and followed the sergeant up the hill, but the fourth jumped through a front window and headed straight towards me, brandishing a knife. It was the corporal. The dogs couldn't help me now so I raised my staff and held it diagonally across my body in a defensive stance.

  As he drew closer, a mirthless smile creased his face. He halted, facing me in a crouch, the blade held wide in his right hand. 'Made a big mistake in deserting, boy. I'm going to slice open your belly and take your guts for garters!'

  So saying, he ran at me fast, the knife already curving towards my body. I moved faster than I could think, the practice with Arkwright paying off. My first blow was to his wrist, spinning the knife from his hand. He grunted with pain as I hit him a second time - a blow to his head that sent him to his knees. He wasn't laughing now. There was fear in his eyes. He came slowly to his feet. I could have hit him again but I let him be. He turned, and with a curse set off after his companions. They were all running up the hill as if the Devil himself were at their heels.

  I headed towards the house, thinking it was over, but then watched open-mouthed from the doorway as Arkwright, roaring with anger, proceeded to smash everything inside into tiny pieces: furniture, crockery and every remaining window. When he'd finished, he whistled Tooth and Claw back to heel and set fire to the house. As we climbed out of the valley, a thick plume of dark smoke obscured the setting sun.

  'Nothing for them to come back to now!' Arkwright remarked with a grin.

  Then, from high on the fell, someone called down to us:

  'You're a dead man, Spook! A dead man! We'll find out where you live. You're dead – you and the boy! You've both got it coming to you now. We serve th
e King. You'll hang for sure!'

  'Don't look so worried, Master Ward,' said Arkwright with a wry smile. 'He's all talk. If they had the stomach for it, they'd be down here fighting now, not cringing with fear up on that hill.'

  'But won't they report what's happened and send more soldiers after us? You've hit one of the King's soldiers and we've destroyed all their possessions.'

  'The war's going badly so I doubt very much whether they've got soldiers to spare for hunting the likes of us. Besides, I'm pretty sure they're deserters. They're the ones who need fear hanging. They certainly don't behave like a proper press gang. Beating up the parish constable wasn't part of the job when I was in the army!'

  With that, Arkwright turned on his heel and set off for the cave.

  'When were you a soldier?' I asked.

  'Long ago. After completing my time with Mr Gregory I went back to the mill and tried to free my mam and dad. When I couldn't do it, I was so bitter that I left the trade for a while. The army trained me as a gunner but the land was at peace and there was nobody to shoot at, so I bought myself out and went back to being a spook. Funny how things work out. But I'll tell you one thing – I'd never have run from a battle – not like those lily-livered cowards up there.'

  'You were a gunner? You mean you fired one of those big cannons?'

  'An eighteen-pounder, it was, Master Ward. The biggest cannon in the County. And I was a master gunner and sergeant to boot. To all intents and purposes, that was my gun!'

  'I've seen it,' I told him. 'In the summer, soldiers brought it up from Colne and used it to breach Malkin Tower.'

  'How long did it take 'em?' Arkwright demanded.

  'They were at it from noon to sunset, then finished the job in less than an hour the following morning.'

  'Did they now? No wonder the war down south is going so badly. I've seen that tower and I reckon I could breach its walls in under two hours. It's all about technique and training, Master Ward!' he said with a smile.

  It was strange how cheerful and talkative he'd suddenly become. He seemed elated. It was as if the fight with the deserters had lifted his spirits.

  But back at the hermitage, Arkwright's anger bubbled up again when he discovered that the hermit hadn't been able to discover the whereabouts of Morwena's lair.

  'I've kept my side of the bargain – now keep yours!' he raged.

  'Have patience, William,' Judd said calmly. 'Can crops be grown in winter? Of course not, because all things have their time. I said I haven't discovered it yet. Not that I won't be able to do so eventually. And I've got close enough to know that you're right. Her lair is in the southern lakelands. But it's hard to find a witch. She's undoubtedly used her powers to cloak her whereabouts. Is she a particularly strong witch?'

  Arkwright nodded. 'They don't come much stronger. Her true name is Morwena but some call her Bloodeye. No doubt you'll have heard the name?'

  'That I have,' replied the hermit. 'Both names. Who hasn't? Every mother in the County trembles at those names. Scores of children have gone missing in the last twenty years. I'll do all I can to help, but I'm tired now. These things can't be rushed. I'll try again tomorrow when things will be more propitious. What's the weather like?'

  'Turning milder and starting to drizzle,' grumbled Arkwright, still far from pleased.

  'You don't want to be travelling in those conditions, do you? Why don't you settle yourselves down for the night? Have you eaten?'

  'Not since breakfast. I can manage but Master Ward here is always hungry.'

  'Then I'll heat us up some broth.'

  But before supper Arkwright took me out onto the dark hillside and we practised fighting with staffs again. It seemed he was determined to keep up with my training wherever and whenever he could. A fine rain drifted into our faces as we tried to keep our balance on the slippery grass. This time he didn't deliver any blows to my body but seemed content to force me backwards and test my defensive skills.

  'Well, Master Ward, that's enough for now,' he said at last. 'I do believe we're starting to see a faint glimmer of improvement. I saw how you dealt with that corporal earlier. You did well, lad. You should be proud of yourself. Keep at it and within six months you'll be well able to look after yourself.'

  His words cheered me up, and as we headed back to the cave, I began to look forward to my supper. But it proved a disappointment. The broth was bitter, and at the first mouthful I pulled a face. I wondered what was in it.

  Arkwright just smiled at my distaste. 'Eat it all up, Master Ward! That's the best herb soup you'll get north of Caster. Judd here is a vegetarian. The dogs'll eat better than us tonight.'

  The hermit gave no sign that he was insulted by Arkwright's remarks, but out of respect I made myself empty my bowl of broth and then thanked him. Whatever was in it, I had my best night's sleep since leaving Chipenden.

  CHAPTER 15

  The dancing finger

  There was no breakfast. Soon after dawn Judd Atkins opened up the lakes map and laid it out on the ground near the embers of the fire.

  'Right!' he said at last, staring down at it. 'I've had a good night's sleep and I'm feeling much better. Should be able to find her now . . .'

  So saying, he pulled two items from his breeches pocket. One was a short length of fine string; the other was the severed witch's finger. He then tied one end of the string to the finger.

  The hermit saw me watching and smiled. 'Before I retreated from this wicked world, I was a dowser, Thomas. Mostly I used a birch twig to find water. Many of the wells to the north of the County were found by me. Occasionally I found missing people too. I could suspend a shred of clothing or a locket of hair above a map until my hand twitched. Sadly, many of those I located were already dead, but their families were still grateful to find a body to bury in hallowed ground. Now, let's see if I can find myself a water witch called Morwena . . .'

  Arkwright moved closer and we both watched as the hermit began a systematic search. Moving the suspended finger slowly from west to east, then east to west, he made steady sweeps across the width of the map, moving slightly further north each time. After less than a minute his hand suddenly twitched. He paused, took a deep breath, moved his hand to the right and brought it back again very smoothly and steadily. It twitched again, this time jerking upwards so that the witch's finger danced on the end of the string.

  'Mark that, William!' he called, and Arkwright walked across, knelt down and made a small cross. That done, the hermit continued to traverse the map. Soon his hand twitched again. Within moments the severed finger was once more dancing on the string as he identified a third location. Each time, Arkwright marked the spot very carefully. The hermit continued but found nothing more to report.

  All three crosses were to the west of Coniston Water: the first was on its north-west shore; the second marked a very small lake called Goat's Water; the third, further to the north, was called Leven's Water.

  'So is it all of them, old man, or are you simply not sure?' Arkwright asked, impatience strong in his voice.

  'Is to be certain to be right? We must always allow room for doubt, William. It could well be all three. I'm sure she spends some time at each location,' came the reply. 'There could even be others further north than you asked me to investigate. I got the strongest reaction from the Coniston shore, but I also feel that she roams the whole area west of that lake. Do you know the place well?'

  'I've had cause to work up there more than once but I don't know the lake's northern extremity, on the border of the County. They're a surly lot up there in Coniston, set in their ways, and don't take kindly to outsiders. They'd rather suffer in silence than bring in a spook from the south.'

  Wisely, I kept my thoughts to myself, but I thought that was a bit much coming from someone as unfriendly as Arkwright, who could barely tolerate an apprentice in his house.