demanded, holding out his hand.
He gave each apprentice a blank notebook in which to keep a record of everything we learned and the things we encountered. He flicked through the pages now, and I waited for his anger to erupt. A lot of the pages were blank . . . too many. When he’d given me lessons, pacing backward and forward beside the bench in the garden, I’d taken notes. I could do nothing else under the Spook’s fierce gaze. But whenever he’d sent me up to the library to make additional notes from the books there, I’d done little work—sometimes nothing at all.
“This is a disgrace,” he said. At first his voice was very calm, which somehow made it worse than if he’d shouted. “You must be the laziest apprentice I’ve trained so far.”
I was annoyed at being called lazy. The job was exhausting and difficult. I felt like telling him that this was too much to ask of a boy my age and that only a fool would become a spook, but I managed to control my anger and make the apology I knew he expected.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get the notes up to date by the end of the week, I promise. I’ll not procrastinate anymore.”
“Aye, and pigs might fly!” snapped the Spook, raising his voice and glaring at me angrily. “You sound like you’ve swallowed a dictionary, lad. If you’re good with words, why don’t you try writing a few more down? What would your father think of this? No doubt he taught you that procrastination is the thief of time! It’s very true. Keep putting things off until later and you waste your time on this earth, which is short enough as it is.”
My father was the village schoolmaster at Cockerham. The Spook had first met him when a dark entity—believed to be the devil—was plaguing the local church, terrifying the parishioners, who didn’t even dare cross the churchyard to attend Sunday service. The priest had been too scared to do anything about it, so the villagers, judging my father to be the cleverest and wisest man in the village, had elected him to deal with the problem.
Rather than trying to face the dark himself, he’d sent for a man who was an expert on such things—John Gregory, who quickly discovered that the entity in question was a very dangerous boggart that couldn’t be persuaded to move elsewhere. The Spook had to throw salt and iron at it, and that was enough to destroy it.
My six elder brothers all had good jobs. Some were clerks, and one had become a lawyer, which made my father especially proud. But although I had an aptitude for both writing and sums, that kind of work didn’t appeal to me at all. It had been a relief when the Spook approached my father and suggested that he take me on.
At that point, I hadn’t realized what the job entailed. Being a seventh son of a seventh son meant that I had been born with gifts that fitted me to be trained as a spook—for example, the ability to see and talk to the dead. But apart from the boggart in the churchyard, a visitation that had occurred when I was too small to understand what was happening, the dark had not come near our village. I had little idea what I was getting involved with and little chance for my seventh-son skills to be put to the test. The rumors I had heard made the job sound much more glamorous and exciting than the boring work of a clerk or a lawyer. Although many folk from the County feared Mr. Gregory because he worked close to the dark, they also respected his bravery and competence. It would be nice to have people look up to you like that.
The Spook was right in what he said—my father expected a high standard of conduct from his sons. He would be very angry if he knew how badly I was doing.
“I really don’t see the point in keeping you on,” Mr. Gregory continued. “I think it would be for the best if you went back home and found yourself another trade.”
I bowed my head. This wasn’t really a surprise—I’d been expecting to be dismissed for some time. But
He gave each apprentice a blank notebook in which to keep a record of everything we learned and the things we encountered. He flicked through the pages now, and I waited for his anger to erupt. A lot of the pages were blank . . . too many. When he’d given me lessons, pacing backward and forward beside the bench in the garden, I’d taken notes. I could do nothing else under the Spook’s fierce gaze. But whenever he’d sent me up to the library to make additional notes from the books there, I’d done little work—sometimes nothing at all.
“This is a disgrace,” he said. At first his voice was very calm, which somehow made it worse than if he’d shouted. “You must be the laziest apprentice I’ve trained so far.”
I was annoyed at being called lazy. The job was exhausting and difficult. I felt like telling him that this was too much to ask of a boy my age and that only a fool would become a spook, but I managed to control my anger and make the apology I knew he expected.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get the notes up to date by the end of the week, I promise. I’ll not procrastinate anymore.”
“Aye, and pigs might fly!” snapped the Spook, raising his voice and glaring at me angrily. “You sound like you’ve swallowed a dictionary, lad. If you’re good with words, why don’t you try writing a few more down? What would your father think of this? No doubt he taught you that procrastination is the thief of time! It’s very true. Keep putting things off until later and you waste your time on this earth, which is short enough as it is.”
My father was the village schoolmaster at Cockerham. The Spook had first met him when a dark entity—believed to be the devil—was plaguing the local church, terrifying the parishioners, who didn’t even dare cross the churchyard to attend Sunday service. The priest had been too scared to do anything about it, so the villagers, judging my father to be the cleverest and wisest man in the village, had elected him to deal with the problem.
Rather than trying to face the dark himself, he’d sent for a man who was an expert on such things—John Gregory, who quickly discovered that the entity in question was a very dangerous boggart that couldn’t be persuaded to move elsewhere. The Spook had to throw salt and iron at it, and that was enough to destroy it.
My six elder brothers all had good jobs. Some were clerks, and one had become a lawyer, which made my father especially proud. But although I had an aptitude for both writing and sums, that kind of work didn’t appeal to me at all. It had been a relief when the Spook approached my father and suggested that he take me on.
At that point, I hadn’t realized what the job entailed. Being a seventh son of a seventh son meant that I had been born with gifts that fitted me to be trained as a spook—for example, the ability to see and talk to the dead. But apart from the boggart in the churchyard, a visitation that had occurred when I was too small to understand what was happening, the dark had not come near our village. I had little idea what I was getting involved with and little chance for my seventh-son skills to be put to the test. The rumors I had heard made the job sound much more glamorous and exciting than the boring work of a clerk or a lawyer. Although many folk from the County feared Mr. Gregory because he worked close to the dark, they also respected his bravery and competence. It would be nice to have people look up to you like that.
The Spook was right in what he said—my father expected a high standard of conduct from his sons. He would be very angry if he knew how badly I was doing.
“I really don’t see the point in keeping you on,” Mr. Gregory continued. “I think it would be for the best if you went back home and found yourself another trade.”
I bowed my head. This wasn’t really a surprise—I’d been expecting to be dismissed for some time. But
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