The Spook's Battle by Joseph Delaney Page A

shoulder and trim of waist. His face was weatherbeaten--he looked more like a farmer than a magistrate, so I supposed he liked the outdoor life. He greeted Father Stocks warmly, nodded pleasantly in my direction, and invited us to sit down. We pulled two chairs closer to the desk, and the priest wasted no time in stating the purpose of our visit. He finished by handing Nowell the piece of paper on which he'd written down the testimonies of the two witnesses from Goldshaw Booth.The magistrate read them quickly and looked up. "And you say Father, that they would swear under oath to the facts stated here?""Without a doubt. But we must guarantee that they remain anonymous.""Good," said Nowell. "It's about time the villains in that tower were dealt with once and for all. This may be just what we need to do it. Can you write, boy?" he asked, looking at me.
     I nodded, and he pushed a sheet of paper toward me. "State the names and ages of the kidnapped, together with descriptions of the goods taken. Then sign it at the bottom."I did as he asked, then returned the paper to him. "I'll send for the constable, and then we'll pay a visit to Malkin Tower. Don't worry, boy. We'll have your family safe and sound by nightfall."It was as we turned to leave that, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the mirror. I might have been mistaken, but it looked like a brief flash of black silk, which vanished the very moment I looked directly at it. I wondered if Wurmalde had been spying on us.Within the hour we were heading for Malkin Tower.The magistrate led the way, seated high on a big roan mare. Just behind and to his left was the parish constable, a dour-faced man called Barnes, dressed in black and riding a smaller gray horse. Both were armed: Roger Nowell had a sword at his hip, while the constable carried a stout stick with a whip hooked to his saddle. Father Stocks and I rode in an open cart, sharing the discomfort with the two bailiffs the constable had brought along. They sat beside us silently, nursing cudgels but not making eye contact, and I had a strong feeling that they didn't want to be on the road to the tower.
     The driver of the cart was one of Nowell's servants, a man called Cobden, who nodded once to the priest and muttered "Father," but completely ignored me.The road was pitted and uneven and the ride gave us a good jolting so that I couldn't wait for it to end. We could have made better time on foot by traveling across country, I thought, rather than keeping to the roads and tracks. But nobody asked my opinion, so I just had to put up with it. And I'd other things to distract me from the discomfort of that cart.My anxiety regarding Jack, Ellie, and their child -was building. What if they'd been moved already? Then darker thoughts rose up, even though I tried my best to thrust them to the back of my mind. What if they'd been murdered and their bodies hidden where they'd never be found? A lump suddenly came into my throat. After all, what had they done wrong? They didn't deserve that--Mary was just a child. And then there'd be a fourth life lost --Elbe's unborn baby, the son that Jack had always wanted. It was all my fault. If I hadn't been apprenticed to the Spook, none of this would have happened. The Malkins and the Deanes said they wanted me dead: It had to be something to do with the work I was training for.Despite the presence of Magistrate Nowell and his constable, I wasn't very optimistic about our chances of getting into Malkin Tower. What if the Malkins just refused to open the door? After all, it was very thick and studded with iron --I wondered if that caused a problem for the witches, and then remembered that there were other clan members to open and close it. There was even a moat. It seemed to me that Nowell was relying upon their fear of the law and of the consequences of resisting.
     But he didn't know that he was dealing with real witches, and I wasn't too confident in the power of a