The Spook’s nightmare wc-5 Page 7

  ‘Could well be, lad. He might have lured her away somehow by using dark magic, but he couldn’t have physically carried her off. You see, he wasn’t there in person last night. That’s why he seemed to vanish. A shaman can project his spirit from his body, and to those like us with the gift to see it, it looks just like him. The dogs are a different matter, though: as I said, he has a special power over animals. Bill Arkwright had them well-trained and it’s not like them to go off like that.’

  ‘I’d like to visit St John’s myself to buy a few provisions,’ Captain Baines interrupted, ‘and I might be able to find out what’s going on.’

  He left soon after that and then, despite all our attempts to persuade him otherwise, Simon set off for St John’s too, intending to find accommodation and work on his appeal. But before he left he drew us a map. He marked in Greeba Keep, the ruined chapel and Douglas. He also included the small town of Peel on the west coast of the island, indicating the mill where Adriana lived with her parents.

  I studied it carefully, committing it to memory.

  At dusk the captain still hadn’t returned, and we were starting to get worried. What could have delayed him?

  We hid our bags as best we could so that it would be easier to fight the buggane. Salt and iron were useless against this daemon, but we both took our silver chains, which might be able to bind it temporarily, giving us a chance to use the silver-alloy blades in our staffs to finish it off.

  As it grew dark, we started to walk towards the chapel ruins again. It had gone badly the previous night and I wasn’t confident that we could do any better now. The buggane was dangerous and had a powerful ally in the shaman.

  We hadn’t gone far when I heard dogs barking in the distance. For a moment I feared tracker hounds again, but then I relaxed. I wasn’t going to be fooled twice.

  ‘It’s Bill Arkwright’s dogs,’ I told the Spook. ‘They’re coming back!’

  Suddenly the distant dogs began to howl and bay as if they’d caught the scent of their prey.

  ‘Aye, lad, but they’re not alone!’ cried my master.

  The dogs were racing towards us, and at their heels was a large group of armed men, maybe twenty or more.

  ‘Run for it, lad!’

  We set off as fast as we could, our feet flying over the rough grass, but after several minutes we still hadn’t put any distance between ourselves and our pursuers.

  ‘Split up!’ the Spook shouted. ‘Divide them, and maybe they won’t catch us both!’

  I obeyed, peeling off to the left while he went right. For either of us to be captured was bad enough, but what he’d suggested certainly made good sense.

  For a few moments I sprinted off and the sound of the dogs actually started to fade. But just when I thought I was getting away, I heard a single bark close behind me. I looked back to see Claw closing on me fast. Beyond her were half a dozen men with clubs. They didn’t seem to be gaining on me, but the dog certainly was.

  I stumbled on a tussock of grass, went down on all fours, and immediately jumped to my feet again. But before I could go anywhere Claw was on me, her teeth clamped on my breeches just above the ankle.

  ‘Let go, Claw! Let go!’ I shouted, but she growled and began to shake my leg as she would a rat.

  I couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. She’d always obeyed Bill Arkwright, and had once saved my life when I’d been seized by the water witch, Morwena. Since Bill’s death I’d thought of her as my own dog. How had the shaman managed to turn her against me like this? She seemed like a different animal.

  She was a big, powerful wolfhound and the only way to make her let go was to whack her hard with my staff – though even that might not be enough. I raised my arm, but then hesitated… I couldn’t bring myself to do it… And then it was too late. The first of the yeomen – a big, burly man – was upon me.

  He swung his club at my head. I used my staff against him rather than the dog, and he went down at my feet with a grunt. I felled a second assailant, but then I was surrounded. What happened next was bad. Claw snarled and transferred her grip from my breeches to my ankle. I felt her teeth sink in. My sense of shock at her behaviour was worse than the physical pain. Then a whack to my head brought me to my knees and my staff fell to the ground. The blows rained in hard; someone booted me in my stomach and I doubled up in pain, fighting for breath.

  I was hauled roughly to my feet, my hands were tied behind my back and I was marched off through the trees. Every so often someone would direct a kick at my back or my legs. That was bad enough, but soon the grey stone of the keep loomed up through the trees. I knew where they were taking me – down into the dungeons to feed me to the buggane. Greeba Keep had a wide moat full of murky water, but rather than a drawbridge like Malkin Tower, this fortification had a simple wooden approach ramp and a metal portcullis between two small gatehouses that were scarcely higher than the outer wall. I stood there, suffering kicks and thumps as we waited for it to be raised.

  Once inside, I saw that the walls enclosed a flagged area full of stone buildings. The tall tower was right at the centre, protected by another portcullis. Two yeomen, each furnished with a flickering torch, dragged me along beneath the strong metal grille, then down some steep spiral steps until we reached a guard-room, where half a dozen men sat eating while others cleaned boots and polished armour.

  I was taken through a doorway opposite them and down more steps into the damp darkness. Eventually we emerged in a narrow passageway dripping with water, with soft mud that squelched underfoot. At one point I saw water cascading down the wall – I assumed we were passing under the moat, heading for the deep dungeons to the south, within the buggane’s domain. Every so often other passageways led off to our right and left.

  I’d expected to be held in a chamber similar to the one in the Tynwald witch tower, along with the other prisoners, including Adriana, but we went straight past a row of narrow cells: I heard no sounds or movement so it was impossible to tell if any were occupied. One of the yeomen unlocked the door of the one at the end and, after cutting the ropes that bound my hands, thrust me inside. Once the metal door clanged shut, I was plunged into complete darkness.

  I waited for the footsteps to die away and then reached into my pocket for my tinderbox and candle stub. I always carry them with me because spook’s business often means working after dark or in underground chambers. I also checked on the blood jar, relieved to find that it was still safe. But poor Alice – she was beyond its protection. I could hardly bear to think about the risk she faced from the Fiend.

  I was surprised that I hadn’t been searched and still had my silver chain – not that it would be any use against the buggane in its spirit form as it came to draw the life from my body.

  I managed to light the candle, but the underground cell proved even worse than I’d expected. Not even straw to lie on. There was an oddity too: three of the walls were made of damp stone but the fourth was just earth – hard-packed sub-soil. My hands began to tremble, making the candle flame flicker – because low down, in the centre of that earthen wall, was the dark entrance to a tunnel.

  Was it one of the buggane’s tunnels? I bent low and peered in. The rear part was still in partial shadow, but it seemed to come to a dead end no more than fifteen feet inside. Had someone tried to dig an escape tunnel and been discovered? If so, why hadn’t the guards filled it in again?

  I had another way out of the cell; one other item in my pocket that might prove useful – my special key. It had been crafted by the Spook’s brother, Andrew, and could open most locks. Not that I’d be in a rush to use it. I could probably get out of the cell easily enough, but then there was both an inner and an outer portcullis controlling access to the keep. The mechanisms to raise them would be guarded, so escape from the keep seemed out of the question.

  Of course, there were other cells nearby, and one of them might hold Adriana. If they caught the Spook, they might bring him here too – but I’d probably
hear them in the passageway outside, so it was best to bide my time. Several of us working together would have a better chance of getting out.

  I waited for long time but heard nothing. Surely, if they’d caught the Spook, he’d have been brought here by now? Perhaps he’d managed to escape? Eventually I blew out the candle to save it for future use, then curled myself up into a ball on the earth floor and tried to sleep. It was cold and damp, and soon I began to shiver. I was aching all over and covered in bruises from the beating I’d suffered. There was no Alice here to offer relief from pain with her herbs – only time would heal me.

  Several times I dozed off, only to wake up with a jerk. But the final time I awoke, it was for reasons other than cold and discomfort.

  I could hear the patter of earth falling onto the floor. Someone or something was emerging from the tunnel…

  Iopened my tinderbox, and despite the trembling of my hands managed to light the candle stub. I stared at the earthen wall in horror. A hairy head, arms and upper torso were visible at the entrance of the tunnel and the creature was looking directly towards me. It was huge.

  My worst fears were realized: it was the buggane, once again in the shape of the Cruncher. The daemon was squat and bulky, with virtually no neck, its front limbs ending in broad claws clearly shaped for burrowing. Its massive body was covered in long black hair which shone in the candlelight as if slick with oil. At close quarters, the most striking thing about it was its face. It had the large, close-set staring eyes of a cruel predator, but when its gaze turned towards the candle, the lids narrowed into a squint. In this form the buggane had created and now inhabited a labyrinth of dark tunnels. I wondered if the light bothered it?

  The creature had a slimy wet quivering snout, from which drops of moisture fell and splattered on the floor; it suddenly growled low in its throat and opened its mouth to reveal teeth that looked capable of biting off an arm, a leg or even a head. It had a double row of teeth: those at the front were sharp and triangular like the teeth of a wood-saw; those to the rear were broad, like human ones, but far larger – molars shaped for grinding and chewing. No wonder they called it the Cruncher.

  But why was it visiting me like this? Wasn’t it supposed to approach in its spirit form and whisper as it drew out my life essence? I slipped my left hand into my pocket and readied my silver chain. I wondered if the chain would hold it – and, if so, for how long? My staff had been taken by my captors. I had nothing with me that could kill it.

  The buggane pulled itself into the cell and moved towards me on all fours, panting like a dog. It was maybe twice the size of a fully grown man. How had it fitted into the tunnel? I saw now that its fur was shining with beads of water. Luckily it didn’t come too close but I could still smell its foul breath, making me retch. As I struggled to hold down the contents of my stomach, it began to circle me slowly, still on all fours, and as it did so, the panting gave way to a deliberate sniffing. Was it about to attack? I wondered. If so, what was it waiting for? Or was it like a witch, short-sniffing, trying to find things out about me?

  I turned slowly on my knees so that I was always facing towards it as it circled menacingly. The candle was dancing in my trembling hand, and at one point, unintentionally, I jerked the flame towards the creature. It seemed to flinch, its eyes narrowing again – or had I just imagined it?

  Most denizens of the dark both feared and avoided daylight but were not usually troubled by the light of a fire or a candle. In its present form the buggane was certainly bothered by the candlelight. But how would it cope with fire? Would a torch be a real threat to it? I tried moving the candle towards its face. It retreated and gave a threatening growl, so low that it seemed to come from deep within its belly. Next it showed me its sharp teeth and I immediately moved the candle back again.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you!’ warned a deep voice from the tunnel entrance. ‘One bite and he’d have your arm off. Or maybe your head – that would make a good mouthful.’

  It was the abhuman, Horn: he was staring at me and shaking his head.

  I turned my gaze back to the buggane. Having completed a full circle, it was surely planning to attack now. I waited tensely, mouth dry with fear, left hand still gripping my silver chain. But to my surprise the creature crawled back towards the wall of earth. It halted beside Horn, who began to pat its forehead, then whispered something into its ear before moving aside. The daemon squeezed its bulk into the tunnel. For a while I could hear it scuffling and grunting as it made its way along. Then the sounds faded away altogether.

  Horn was still gazing at me. ‘He wants you, boy. Knows what you are – a seventh son of a seventh son. Likes the smell of your blood and would love to eat your flesh and crunch your bones. I’ve rarely seen him so eager!’

  Then he turned and followed the buggane into the tunnel. I waited until the noise of his departure faded away into absolute silence. Only then did I rise to my feet and approach the tunnel entrance. I held up my candle and peered inside. It still seemed to come to a dead end. So where had the buggane and Horn gone? Had the creature filled the tunnel in behind them? It didn’t seem possible – I was facing what looked like solid earth.

  I was nervous but curious. I listened. There wasn’t the faintest sound. Was it waiting for me in the darkness ness somewhere ahead? Common sense told me that if it had wanted to harm me, it could easily have done so in the cell. So, holding the candle in my right hand, I scrambled into the tunnel and began to crawl forward. As soon as I reached what, from the cell, had appeared to be a dead end, I saw that the tunnel angled off at ninety degrees to my left. It ran parallel to the other cells: that was what the earthen wall was for – so that the buggane could reach its victims in its physical form. No doubt each cell had a short tunnel connecting it to this one.

  So was it a means of escape? Not for most people. They’d be terrified after such a visitation and wouldn’t dream of venturing inside. But could it be for me? I was a spook’s apprentice and had been in some scary situations before. My instinct as a trainee spook was to follow the tunnel. It was part of the job. Then I remembered my master’s warning about the labyrinth created by the buggane amongst the roots of trees. They moved and shifted and sometimes collapsed without warning. That thought filled me with panic. What if this tunnel collapsed now? And what if I got lost in the labyrinth or suddenly came face to face with the buggane or Horn?

  No, I wasn’t ready to take such a risk yet. So I slowly backed my way out and was soon sitting on the floor of the cell again.

  I blew out my candle and tried to sleep once more. This time it was more difficult. I was finally dropping off when I heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. Had they captured the Spook? But then a key turned in my lock, and two burly yeomen carrying torches came into my cell.

  ‘On your feet, boy!’ one of them commanded. ‘We’re taking you to the long room.’

  The other walked over to the tunnel entrance. ‘Well, what have we here?’ he remarked, looking at the scattering of soil on the cell floor. ‘Looks like you’ve had a hungry visitor! Likes to take a good look at each victim first, but he’ll be back tomorrow night to start the real business, you can be sure of that!’

  They marched me back along the passage with the cells to our right. Again, no sounds came from them. Were they empty? I wondered what had happened to Adriana. Where was she being kept? Had the buggane already begun the process of devouring her? I shuddered at the thought. The poor girl didn’t deserve that. Nobody should have to suffer such a fate. But then, instead of heading for the steps, we turned left, then left again into a much wider, stone-flagged passageway, lit by torches set in wall brackets. It seemed to me that we were still south of the moat and within the buggane’s domain.

  I could hear dogs barking in the distance, the sounds increasing in volume as we approached a door at the end of the passageway, and then I was pushed into a large oblong chamber. There were dozens of torches on the walls, and I could clearly
see what was going on there. About two dozen men sat on bales of straw near the right-hand wall; perhaps another five or six armed yeomen stood nearby. In the doorway stood their commander, Stanton, scowling at me, a bandage wrapped round his head – clear sign of the damage Alice’s rock had done to him. At the far end, against an earthen wall, stood a large, ornately carved wooden chair, and seated on it was the gaunt figure of Lord Barrule, the shaman, who was presiding over events. Behind him, to his left, was the entrance to a dark tunnel, similar in size to the one in my cell.

  Large steel cages lined the left-hand wall – I counted fourteen. Inside each but the last was a dog. There were a variety of breeds but all were big and fierce. My eyes swept down the line. I knew what I would see but it was still a shock when I saw Claw, Blood and Bone there. I felt sick to my stomach.

  In the middle of the room was a large empty space, where the floor was covered in sawdust that was dotted with patches of fresh blood. They were clearly staging dog-fights there. I saw money changing hands – men gambling on the outcome of each fight.

  Lord Barrule got to his feet and raised his hands high. As he did so, the tumult of barking ceased and, but for a faint whimper here and there, all the dogs fell silent.

  As I watched, horrified, two of the cages were opened and the dogs dragged into the centre of the chamber by their leather collars; they were forced to face each other, their noses almost touching. Although powerful, big dogs, they appeared cowed and terrified. Their handlers left them there and retreated back towards the doorway where we were standing. The shaman suddenly brought his hands down and clapped loudly three times. On the third clap, the dogs were instantly transformed from timidity to aggression and leaped forward savagely.

  The fight was fast and furious: they tore at each other with their teeth, the first blood being drawn in just seconds. It was cruel and horrible and I couldn’t bear to look, so I cast my eyes down to the ground. Unfortunately my ears were still open to what was happening. Eventually one of the dogs let out a shrill cry and then fell silent. There was a burst of applause, a few cheers and the odd curse of disappointment from the losers. When I looked up, the winning dog was being led back to its cage; the losing animal was lying on its side with its throat torn out, fresh blood soaking into the sawdust.