The Spook's Secret Page 13

  'Found your voice again, Tom? That's good,' Morgan said. T see that he's been talking about me. Did he have anything good to say?'

  'Not really'

  'That doesn't surprise me. And did he tell you why I gave up my apprenticeship as a spook?'

  By now my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I could just make out the shape of his head facing me across the table. I could have told him that the Spook said he'd lacked discipline and wasn't up to the job, but instead I decided to ask a few questions of my own.

  'What do you want from me? And why has the door been barred?' I asked.

  'So that you can't run away again,' Morgan said. 'So that you've no choice but to stay and face what I have to show you. You're quite the apprentice, I hear. You and I both know that your master doesn't appreciate that. So this is the first lesson of your new apprenticeship. You'll have had some dealings with the dead, but now I'm going to add to your knowledge. And add to it significantly'

  'Why would you want to do that?' I challenged. 'Mr Gregory's teaching me all I need to know'

  'First things first, Tom,' Morgan replied. 'Lef s talk about ghosts first. What do you know about them?'

  I decided to humour him. Maybe if I let him get what he wanted to say off his chest, I could be on my way to the Spook's house.

  'Most ghosts are bound close to their bones; others to the place where they either suffered or committed some terrible crime while still on earth. They aren't free to wander at will.'

  'Well done, Tom,' Morgan said, an edge of mockery back in his voice. 'And I bet you've written it all down in your notebook too, like a good little apprentice. Well, here's something that the old fool won't have taught you. He won't have mentioned it because he doesn't like to think about it. So here's the big question. Where do the dead go after death? And I don't mean bound ghasts and ghosts. I mean the other dead. The vast majority. People like your father.'

  At the mention of my dad I sat up straight and stared hard at Morgan. 'What do you know of my dad?' I asked angrily. 'How did you know he was dead?'

  'All in good time, Tom. All in good time. I have powers your master can only dream of. But you haven't answered my question. Where do the dead go after death?'

  'The Church says Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Limbo,' I replied. 'I'm not sure about all that and Mr Gregory never talks about it. But I believe that the soul survives death.'

  Purgatory was a place where souls went to be cleansed, suffering until they were fit to enter Heaven. Limbo was more mysterious. Priests thought that those who weren't baptized went there. It was supposed to be for souls that weren't really evil but, through no real fault of their own, weren't fit to enter Heaven.

  'What does the Church know?' Morgan said, a sneering tone entering his voice. 'That's about the only thing Old Gregory and I do agree on. But you see, Tom, of the four places you've just mentioned, Limbo is by far the most useful for somebody like me. It takes its name from the Latin word limbus, which means 'edge' or 'fringe'. You see, wherever they're heading, the majority of the dead first have to pass through Limbo, which is on the edge of this world, and some find it very hard to do. Some of the weak, the fearful and the guilty retreat, falling back into this world to become ghosts, joining the lingerers who are already trapped on earth. They are the easiest to control. But even the strong and the good must struggle and fight to pass through Limbo. It takes time, and while they're delayed, I have the power to reach any soul there that I choose. I can stop it passing on. I can make it do what I want. If need be, make it suffer.

  'The dead have had their lives. It's over for them. But we're still living and can use them. We can profit from them. I want what Gregory owes me. I want his house in Chipenden with that big library of books that contains so much knowledge. And then there's something else. Something even more important. Something that he's stolen from me. He has a grimoire, a book of spells and rituals, and you're going to help me get it back. In return, you can continue your apprenticeship, with me training you. And I'll teach you those things he's never even dreamed of. I'll put real power at your fingertips!'

  'I don't want you training me' I snapped angrily. 'I'm happy with things just the way they are!'

  'What makes you think that you've any choice in the matter?' Morgan said, his voice suddenly cold and threatening. T think it's time to show you just what I can do. Now, for your own safety, I want you to sit perfectly still and listen carefully. Whatever happens, don't attempt to leave that chair!'

  The room became very quiet and I did as I was told. What else could I do? The door was locked and he was bigger and stronger than I was. I could use my staff against him, but with no real guarantee of success. It was best to play along with him for now, until I could get away and back to the Spook.

  A faint sound came out of the darkness. Something between a rustling and a pattering. It was a bit like mice scampering around under the floorboards. But there weren't any floorboards, just heavy stone flags, and I could feel the room start to grow colder. Usually this would be a sign that something was approaching; something that didn't belong in this world. But once again, this cold was different, just as it had been when we'd talked in the chapel.

  Suddenly a bell tolled somewhere in the air far above our heads. It was deep and mournful, as if calling the bereaved to a funeral, and so loud that the table vibrated. I could feel it resonating through the flags beneath my feet. The bell tolled nine times in all, each peal fainter than its predecessor. This was followed immediately by three loud raps on the table. I could make out the shape of Morgan and he didn't seem to be moving. The raps were repeated, louder than ever, and the heavy brass candlestick fell over, rolled across the tabletop and crashed to the floor.

  In the darkened room, the silence that followed was almost painful and I felt as if my ears were about to pop. I was holding my breath and all I could hear was the thumping inside my head, the rapid beating of my heart. The strange cold intensified and then Morgan spoke into the darkness.

  'Sister of mine, be still and listen well!' he commanded.

  Then I heard the patter of dripping water. It sounded as if there was a hole in the ceiling and it was dripping onto the centre of the tabletop, where the candle had been.

  Next a voice answered. It seemed to come from Morgan's mouth. I could just about make out the outline of his head and I could swear that his jaw was moving, but it was a girl's voice and there was no way a grown man could have imitated its pitch and intensity.

  'Leave me be! Let me rest!' cried the voice.

  The noise of dripping water grew louder and there was a faint splashing, as if a puddle had formed on the tabletop.

  'Obey me and then I'll let you rest,' cried Morgan. 'It's another I wish to speak to. Bring him to this place and then you may return from whence you came. There's a boy with me in this room. Can you see him?'

  'Yes, I see him,' the girl's voice answered. 'He has just lost someone. I sense his sadness.'

  'The boy's name is Thomas Ward,' Morgan said.

  'He mourns his father. Bring his father's spirit to us now!'

  The cold began to lessen and the water ceased its dripping. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Was Morgan really going to summon Dad's spirit? I felt a sense of outrage.

  'Aren't you looking forward to speaking to your father one more time?' Morgan demanded. 'I've already spoken to him and he told me that all your brothers visited his deathbed to say goodbye but you, and that you even missed his funeral. He was sad about that. Very sad. Now you'll both have a chance to put things right.'

  I was stunned by that. How could Morgan possibly know what had happened? Unless he really had been in contact with Dad's spirit...

  'It wasn't my fault!' I said, angry and upset. T didn't get the message in time.'

  'Well, now you're about to get the chance to tell him that yourself...'

  It started to grow colder again. Then a voice spoke to me across the table. Morgan's jaw was moving again but, to my dismay
it was Dad's voice that came out of his mouth. There was no mistaking it. Nobody could possibly have mimicked somebody else's voice so perfectly. It was as if Dad were sitting facing me in the chair opposite.

  'It's dark' Dad cried, 'and I can't even see my hand before my face. Someone light a candle for me, please. Light a candle so that I can be saved.'

  I felt terrible thinking of Dad alone and afraid in the dark. I tried to call out and reassure him but Morgan spoke first.

  'How can you be saved?' he said, his voice deep and powerful and filled with authority 'How can a sinner such as you go to the light? A sinner who always worked on the Lord's day?'

  'Oh, forgive me! Forgive me, Lord!' Dad cried. 'I was a farmer and there were jobs to be done. I worked my fingers to the bone but there were never enough hours in a day. I'd a family to provide for. But I always paid my tithes, holding nothing back that belonged to the Church. I always believed, truly I did. And I taught my sons right from wrong. I did all that a father should.'

  'One of your sons is here now,' Morgan said. 'Would you like to speak to him one last time?'

  'Please. Please. Yes. Let me speak to him. Is it Jack? There were things I should have said to him while I lived. Things unsaid that I would say now!'

  'No,' Morgan said. 'Jack isn't here. It's your youngest son, Tom.'

  'Tom! Tom! Are you there? Is it really you?'

  'I'ts s me, Dad. If s me!' I cried, a lump coming up into my throat. I couldn't bear the thought of Dad suffering in the darkness like that. What had he done to deserve this? 'I'm sorry I didn't get home in time. Sorry I didn't go to your funeral. The message reached me too late. If you've anything to say to Jack, tell me. I'll give him your message,' I said, the tears starting to prick behind my eyes.

  'Just tell Jack I'm sorry about the farm, son. Sorry that I didn't leave it all to him. He's my eldest lad and it was his birthright. But I listened to your mam. Tell him I'm sorry that I left that room to you.'

  There were tears running down my face now. It was a shock to hear that Mam and Dad hadn't been in agreement about the room. I wanted to promise Dad that I'd make it right by giving the room to Jack, but I couldn't because I had to take into account Mam's wishes. I had to talk to her first. But I tried to make Dad feel better. It was the best I could do.

  'Don't worry, Dad! It'll be all right. I'll talk to Jack about it. It won't cause any trouble in the family. None at all. Don't you worry. It'll be fine.'

  'You're a good lad, Tom,' Dad said, his voice full of gratitude.

  'A good lad!' Morgan interrupted. 'He's anything but that. This is the son that you gave to a spook! Seven sons you had and not one did you offer to the Church!'

  'Oh! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' Dad's voice cried out in anguish. 'But none of my lads had a vocation. None wanted to he priests. I struggled to find a good trade for each, and when it came to the last of my sons, his mam wanted him apprenticed to a spook. I was strong against it and we argued over that more than we'd ever argued before. But 1 gave in finally, because I loved her and couldn't deny her what she'd set her heart on. Forgive me! I was weak and put earthly love before my duty to God!'

  'That you did!' Morgan cried out in a loud voice. 'There is no forgiveness for one such as you, and now you must suffer the pains of Hell. Can you feel the flames starting to lick at your flesh? Can you feel the heat starting to build?'

  'Nay, Lord! Please! Please! The pain is too much to bear! Please spare me. I'll do anything! Anything!'

  I came to my feet, filled with anger. Morgan was doing this to Dad. Making Dad believe he was in Hell. Making him experience terrible pain. I couldn't allow it to continue.

  'Don't listen to him, Dad!' I shouted. 'There are no flames. There is no pain. Go in peace! Go in peace! Go to the light! Go to the light!'

  I took four rapid steps down the left side of the table and, with all my strength, swung my staff towards the hooded figure and struck him a terrible blow. Without uttering a sound, he fell away to the right and I heard the chair tumble onto the flags.

  Quickly I pulled my tinderbox and the candle stub from my pocket. Within moments I managed to light the candle. I held it up and looked about me. The chair had fallen sideways and a black cloak was draped across it and down onto the flags. But of Morgan there was no sign! I prodded it with my staff but it was as empty as it looked. He'd vanished into thin air!

  I noticed something on the tabletop. The wood was dry as a bone and there was no trace at all of the water that had seemed to drip and puddle there, but where the brass candlestick had stood was a black envelope.

  Setting the candle down on the edge of the table, I reached across and picked up the envelope. It was sealed, but on it were the words:

  To- My Mew Apprentice', Tom' Ward'

  I tore open the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper within.

  Well, now you've- seen what I am capable of. And what I have Just done, I can do again. I have trapped your father in Limbo. Thus I can reach him anytime I choose and make him believe anything' I want. There is no limit to the pain thatI can inflict upon him.

  If yow would have him from' this, obey my will , firstly, I need something from Qregory'y house: Up in the attic, locked instde his writing desk, there is a wooden box and within it a grvmoive, which is a book of powerful spells and ritualy. It is bound in green leather and has a silver pentacle embossed on the front cover -three concentric circles with a five -pointed star within. It is mine . 'Bring' it to me.

  Secondly, say nothing' to anyone of what you have seen. Thirdly, yow mu&t accept that you are now my apprentice, bound to my service for a period of five years- from this- day forth - or your father will suffer. To signal your acceptance, rap three times- upon the tabletop. The door is unlocked and, whatever your decision, you are free to go. The choice is-yours.

  Morgan G

  I couldn't bear the thought of Dad's spirit in torment. But neither did I want to be Morgan's apprentice. I was reluctant to rap on the table, but it would gain me some time. Morgan would think I'd agreed to what he'd demanded, and it would save Dad from suffering now while I consulted the Spook. He would know what to do for the best.

  I took a deep breath and rapped three times upon the table. I held my breath and listened but there was no acknowledgement. The room was utterly still and silent. I tried the door and it opened. I hadn't heard it happen but the bolt had been pulled back. I went back to the table, picked up my tinderbox, blew out the candle and put both into my pockets. Then, clutching my staff, I left the room and opened the front door.

  I almost fell over in amazement. It was broad daylight! Sunlight was dazzling back from the snow and it was at least two hours after dawn! It had only seemed like for fifteen minutes or so that I'd been in the room with Morgan and yet the same number of hours had gone by.

  There was no way I could begin to explain it. The Spook had told me that Morgan was a dangerous man who'd dabbled with the dark. But the Spook hadn't said he was capable of the things I'd seen. Morgan was a powerful and dangerous mage with real magical powers and I shivered at the thought of having to face him again. Within moments I was trudging through the deep snow as fast as I could, heading uphill towards the Spook's house.

  Chapter 13

  Soon the house was directly ahead, with brown smoke rising from the chimney pots telling me that warm welcoming fires were waiting within.

  I knocked at the back door. My key would open most locks, but I didn't use it. As I'd been away for a while it seemed more polite to wait to be invited in. I knocked three times before the door was finally opened by Meg, who smiled at me before stepping back to welcome me inside.

  'Come in quickly out of the snow, Tom!' she exclaimed. 'It's good to see you back.'

  Once inside, I removed my cloak and sheepskin jacket, leaned my staff in the corner and stamped the snow from my boots.

  'Sit yourself down,' Meg said, guiding me across the flags to the fireplace. 'You're shivering with cold. I'll make you a cup of h
ot soup to warm your bones. That'll have to do for now - I'll cook you a nice big meal later.'

  I was trembling more than shivering, upset by what had happened in Morgan's room, but gradually I began to calm down. I did as I was told and warmed my hands at the fire, watching my boots begin to steam. 'If s good to see you've still got all your fingers!' Meg said.

  I smiled. 'Where's Mr Gregory?' I asked, wondering if he'd been called away on spook's business. I hoped he had because that would mean he was fit and well again.

  'He's still in bed. He needs all the rest he can get.'

  'So he's not that much better yet?'

  'He's improving slowly' Meg answered. 'But it'll take time. These things can't be rushed. Try not to disturb or burden him too much. He needs to rest and sleep as much as he can.'

  She brought across a steaming cup of hot chicken soup, so I thanked her and sipped it slowly, feeling it begin to warm my insides.

  'How's your poorly dad?' she asked suddenly, as she settled herself down in her rocking chair. 'Is he getting better now?'

  I was surprised that she'd remembered that, and her question brought tears to my eyes again. 'He died, Meg,' I told her. 'But he'd been very ill.'

  'That's sad, Tom. I'm so sorry. I know what it's like to lose family . ..'

  I felt the pain of losing Dad wrench my stomach and thought of what Morgan had done to his spirit. Dad didn't deserve that. I couldn't let it happen again. I had to do something.

  Meg fell silent and stared into the flames. After a while she closed her eyes and started humming a tune very quietly under her breath. When I'd finished the soup, I went across and put the cup on the table.

  'Thanks, Meg. That was really good,' I told her.

  She didn't reply and seemed to be asleep. It was something she often did, falling asleep in her rocking chair near the hearth.

  I didn't know what to do now. I'd hoped to speak to my master about Morgan, but he was clearly not well enough to be bothered with it. I didn't want to trouble him and make him worse. Perhaps while he was sleeping I could just take a look at this grimoire; check it was where Morgan had said. Maybe something in there would help me to decide what to do. One thing was clear: with my master so ill and Alice gone, I was on my own, and it was down to me to do the right thing by my dad. He was all that mattered, and I had to do something to stop him suffering at the hands of Morgan. I would start by looking for the grimoire.