Spook's Secret (wc-3) by Joseph Delaney Page A

away. The Spook had to leave his staff behind because he had his hands full carrying the axe and his own bag. I was struggling with the heavy shield, glad that he didn't expect me to carry his bag as well. We climbed until we reached the place where the man had died. Then the Spook paused and looked hard into my eyes.
        'You need to be brave now, lad. Very brave. And we have to work quickly,' he told me. 'The boggart's living under the roots of an old thorn tree up yonder. We have to cut down and burn the tree to drive it out.'
        'How do you know that?' I asked. 'Do stone-chuckers usually live under tree roots?'
        'They live anywhere that takes their fancy. But generally boggarts do like living in cloughs, and particularly under the roots of thorn trees. The shepherd was killed at the foot of this clough right here. And I know there's a thorn tree further up because that's exactly where I dealt with the last one, almost nineteen years ago, when young John was just a babe in arms and Morgan was my apprentice. But that's given us a problem because whereas that boggart listened to a bit of friendly persuasion and moved on when I asked, this is a rogue stone-chucker that's already killed so words won't be enough.'
        So then, heading due north, we entered the western edge of the clough, the Spook setting a fast pace ahead of me: soon we were both breathing hard. The mud gradually gave way to loose stones, making it difficult underfoot.
        At first we kept close to the top of the clough, but then the Spook led the way down the scree until we reached the edge of the stream. It was shallow and narrow but still it boiled across the stones, rushing downwards with such force that it would have been difficult to cross. We continued upwards against its flow, the banks on either side rising up steeply until only a narrow crack of sky was visible overhead. Then, despite the noise of the stream, I heard the first pebble drop into the water just ahead.
        It was something I'd been expecting, and soon there were others, forcing me to take the shield from my back and try to hold it over our heads. The Spook was taller than me so I had to hold it up high, and it wasn't long before my shoulders and arms began to ache. Even though I held it at arm's length, the Spook was forced to stoop and progress wasn't comfortable for either of us.
        Soon we came in sight of the thorn tree. It wasn't particularly big but it was an ancient tree, black and twisted, with gnarled roots that resembled claws. It stood defiant, having survived the worst of the weather for a hundred years or more. It was a good place for a boggart to make its home, especially a stone-chucker like this, a type that avoided human company and liked to be alone.
        The falling stones were getting larger by the minute, and just as we reached the tree, one bigger than my fist clanged onto the shield, nearly deafening me.
        'Hold it steady lad!' the Spook shouted.
        Then the stones stopped falling.
        'Over there . . .' My master pointed, and in the darkness below the tree's branches I could see the boggart starting to take shape. The Spook had told me that this type of boggart was really a spirit and had no flesh, blood and bone of its own; but sometimes, when it tried to scare people, it covered itself with things that made it visible to human eyes. This time it was using the stones and mud from beneath the tree. They rose up in a big whirling wet cloud and stuck to it so that its shape could be seen.
        It wasn't a pretty sight. It had six huge arms which, I suppose, were pretty useful for throwing stones. No wonder it could hurl so many so fast. Its head was enormous too, and its face covered with mud, slime and pebbles that moved when it scowled at us, just as if an earthquake were taking place underneath. There was a black slit for a mouth and two large black holes where its eyes should have