The Spook's Mistake

CHAPTER 18 Two messages

It was only as I approached it that I remembered the press gang and how one of them had threatened to kill us. Arkwright had laughed it off at the time but I wasn't as confident.

It would be easy enough to find out where a spook lived. What if they'd already discovered the location of the mill? They could be waiting in ambush, either in the garden or within the building.

But after cautiously crossing the moat and thoroughly checking the mill inside, including the room with the coffins, I realized my fears were groundless. No pressgangers and no witches. Then, despite my weariness, I carried the five barrels of salt out into the garden and tipped them into the moat, making sure that most went into the section open to the marsh. I needed to maintain the strength of the solution to keep out Morwena. Claw followed me while I did so, but then barked twice, circled me three times and bounded away into the distance — no doubt she was off hunting rabbits.

I was worried about the water pits under the mill too. There was the skelt and the witch to consider. Did they need more salt to keep them docile? If I put too much in, I might kill them, so I decided to take a chance and leave them be for now.

Back in the kitchen, I built up the fire in the stove and dried my wet clothes; then I allowed myself a well-deserved sleep before cooking a hot meal. That done, I decided to go upstairs to the attic room and search Arkwright's library for the book about Morwena. I hadn't read it all and I needed to find out everything I could about her. It might make the difference between death and survival. I was nervous of ghosts strong enough to move objects but it was still daylight and, after all, they were Arkwright's mam and dad, sad and trapped rather than malevolent.

The coffins stood side by side and the three armchairs were drawn up to the stove. I glanced at the cold ashes in the grate and shivered at the damp chill in the air, shaking my head sadly. The two ghosts would no longer have the companionship of their son.

I turned my attention to Arkwright's books. His library was just a fraction of the size of the Spook's at Chipenden but that was only to be expected. My master had not only lived longer, giving him more time to acquire and write books; he had also inherited them from the generations of spooks who'd lived there before him.

Arkwright's shelves held many titles of local interest, such as: The Flora and Fauna of the North County, The Art of Basket Weaving and Lakeland Paths and Byways. Then there were his notebooks, dating from the time of his apprenticeship almost to the present. These were bound in leather and would no doubt give a detailed account of the knowledge and skills Arkwright had acquired while following our trade. There was also a Bestiary, less than a quarter the size of Mr Gregory's but probably just as interesting. And beside it was the book about Morwena.

I decided to take it downstairs and read it by the warmth of the stove. I'd taken just one step towards the door when I felt a sudden icy chill; a warning that the unquiet dead were approaching.

A luminous cylindrical shape began to form between me and the doorway. I was surprised. Most ghosts didn't appear during daylight hours. Was it the mother, father or even the ghost of Arkwright himself? Lingering spirits were usually bound to their bones or the scene of their death, but very occasionally a ghost was forced to wander. I just hoped it wasn't Arkwright. Some spirits are possessive after death and particularly resent intruders into their homes. They still want to live there. Some aren't even fully aware that they're dead. I couldn't help thinking that he'd be angry to find me inside his room, reading one of his books. For an intrusion such as this, I'd suffered cuts and bruises. What now?

But it wasn't Arkwright. A woman's voice called out to me. It was the ghost of Amelia, his mother.

'My son, my William, still lives. Help him, please, before it's too late.'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Arkwright. Really sorry. I wish I could help but I can't. You must believe me, your son really is dead,' I said, trying to keep my voice as kind and calm as possible, just as the Spook advised when facing the unquiet dead.

'No! That isn't true. Listen to me! He's shackled within the bowels of the earth, still waiting to die.'

'How can you know that,' I asked her gently, 'when you're a spirit bound to this place.'

She began to weep softly and the light faded. But, just when I thought she'd gone completely, it flared to a new brilliance and she cried out in a loud, tremulous voice:

'I heard it in the howl of a dying dog; I read it in the whispers of the marsh reeds; I smelled it in the water dripping from the broken wheel. They spoke to me and now I speak to you. Save him before it is too late. Only you can do it. Only you can face the power of the Fiend!'

And then, in an instant, the column of light shifted into the image of a woman. She was wearing a blue summer dress and carrying a basket full of spring flowers. She smiled at me and the scent of those flowers suddenly filled the bedroom. It was a warm smile but her eyes glistened with tears.

Suddenly she was gone. I shivered and made my way back to the kitchen, thinking over what had been said. Could the ghost of Arkwright's mother be right? Was he still alive? It seemed unlikely. The trail of blood had led right to the edge of the lake and he'd lost his staff and boot. The witches must have dragged him into the water. Surely they'd have taken their chance to slay him there and then? After all, he'd been their enemy for long enough and killed many of their kind.

As for that poor ghost, she was probably just confused. That happens sometimes with spirits that are bound to the earth. Their reason flees. Memories fray and become tattered and torn.

With trepidation, I thought about what lay ahead. I didn't expect Morwena and the other witches to arrive for a while yet. When they came, the moat would hopefully keep them at bay — but for how long? With luck, Alice and the Spook would arrive before then. Together, we could finish Morwena off for ever. I certainly didn't feel capable of it alone. Then we could return to Chipenden and leave this terrible place of streams, lakes and bogs behind. I hoped that the Spook wouldn't be too angry with Alice for using the mirror. Surely he had to see that it was justified?

I'd just picked up the book and started to read when I heard the sound of a distant bell. I listened carefully: after a few moments the sound was repeated. When it rang for the fifth and final time, I knew that it was Mr Gilbert down by the canal with a delivery.

He must have often rung the bell when Arkwright was away on business. If I just stayed in the mill, he'd probably move on down the canal, thinking to call next time he passed. But Mr Gilbert wouldn't yet know that Arkwright was dead, and as he'd seemed genuinely fond of the man, I felt it was my duty to go and break the bad news to him. After all, it should be safe enough. Morwena would still be miles away and I could do with seeing a friendly face.

So, carrying just my staff, I set off for the canal. It was a bright afternoon and the sun was shining. Mr Gilbert was heading south and the barge was on the far side of the canal. It seemed very low in the water, suggesting that it was heavily laden with cargo. Someone was grooming the horses. It was a girl of about my own age, golden hair glinting in the sun — no doubt Mr Gilbert's daughter. He waved to me from the towpath and pointed towards the nearest bridge, about a hundred yards to the north. I crossed over and came back to the barge.

When I drew closer, I could see that the bargeman was holding an envelope. He raised his eyebrows. 'What's wrong?' he demanded. 'You look down in the mouth, Tom. Bill's not giving you that bad a time, is he?'

There was no easy way to explain what had happened so I told him simply, 'I've some bad news for you. Mr Arkwright's dead. He was killed by water witches north of the bay. They may be after me now, so take care of yourself on the water. Who knows where or when they might appear?'