Mistress Fresque, gesturing towards the skeleton. ‘We lived together happily for many years until you encountered him last night!’
‘I’m sorry that you lost him,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘But it was him or me. And I think he killed my master, John Gregory.’
‘He would indeed have killed you, but you are wrong to think that he is no more. I did not lose
him
– merely the body that he had inhabited for many years. He will soon find another host – I hope it is to my taste!’ she said with a smile. ‘Then, in revenge for what you did, he will come looking for you, wanting to take
your
head.’
‘What kind of creatures are you?’ I asked.
‘I am a strigoica,’ she replied, ‘the female of our kind. My partner is a strigoi. We are from the Romanian province of Transylvania, which means, “The land beyond the forest”. We are daemons.’
‘Where is Judd Brinscall?’ I asked. ‘What part has he played in all this? When did he start to serve the dark?’
‘Do not concern yourself with him. He is close to death now. His life can be measured in nights or maybe even hours.’
‘Is that his reward for betraying us?’
Mistress Fresque frowned and tightened her lips. It was clear that she would not answer. So, despite my anxiety about the Spook, I remained calm and asked another question, determined to learn all I could, gathering knowledge just as my master would have done.
‘Why did you come here?’ I demanded.
‘There are many reasons for that, but we have kept ourselves to ourselves and lived here in happiness for some time, causing as little disruption as possible. Then I was ordered to lure you and your master to this place.’
‘Ordered? Who told you to do that?’
‘I cannot say. There are many from Romania who now dwell here. Most have arrived very recently. Some are very powerful and I have no choice but to obey them. They can call upon a terrible being that could obliterate me in an instant.’
‘Why were we tricked into coming here? So you could kill us? You’ve killed my master and now it’s my turn!’ I cried, reaching for my sword.
‘Draw that blade and you will no longer be under my protection!’ snapped Mistress Fresque. ‘Your master is not dead but in desperate need of your help. Calm yourself and I’ll take you to see him.’
I relinquished the hilt of my sword and nodded. The strigoica pointed to the door that led to the cellar steps. ‘He’s down there,’ she said, walking towards it.
She opened the door and, very cautiously, I followed her into the small room. A lot had changed since the previous night. The steps were clean and the walls were painted green and free of cobwebs. There were torches in brackets set at frequent intervals so our descent was well-lit. Had the Spook been down here last night, trapped in the darkness and surrounded by creatures from the dark? I wondered. I could have stayed and helped him, but instead I had panicked and run. I was ashamed of my behaviour and found it hard to explain. A lump came to my throat as I remembered the curse of the Pendle witches, which had once been used against the Spook:
You will die in a dark place far underground, with no friend at your side!
We reached the stone flags of the cellar. The only piece of furniture I could see was a wooden table, upon which stood a large black box with a hinged lid. Embossed in silver upon that lid was the image of a creature that I immediately recognized. I grew cold at the sight of it.
It was a skelt. But why was its head depicted on the box? It made me think of the
Doomdryte
’s cover, and the hilt of my sword.
I shuddered. There was something ominous about it, and my heart began to bang in my chest. Mistress Fresque walked straight up to it and lifted the lid.
‘Here is your master,’ she said.
Within the box lay the head of the Spook.
MY HEART SANK into my boots and a flood of grief washed over me. I was too shocked to reply. I felt numb, unable
‘I’m sorry that you lost him,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘But it was him or me. And I think he killed my master, John Gregory.’
‘He would indeed have killed you, but you are wrong to think that he is no more. I did not lose
him
– merely the body that he had inhabited for many years. He will soon find another host – I hope it is to my taste!’ she said with a smile. ‘Then, in revenge for what you did, he will come looking for you, wanting to take
your
head.’
‘What kind of creatures are you?’ I asked.
‘I am a strigoica,’ she replied, ‘the female of our kind. My partner is a strigoi. We are from the Romanian province of Transylvania, which means, “The land beyond the forest”. We are daemons.’
‘Where is Judd Brinscall?’ I asked. ‘What part has he played in all this? When did he start to serve the dark?’
‘Do not concern yourself with him. He is close to death now. His life can be measured in nights or maybe even hours.’
‘Is that his reward for betraying us?’
Mistress Fresque frowned and tightened her lips. It was clear that she would not answer. So, despite my anxiety about the Spook, I remained calm and asked another question, determined to learn all I could, gathering knowledge just as my master would have done.
‘Why did you come here?’ I demanded.
‘There are many reasons for that, but we have kept ourselves to ourselves and lived here in happiness for some time, causing as little disruption as possible. Then I was ordered to lure you and your master to this place.’
‘Ordered? Who told you to do that?’
‘I cannot say. There are many from Romania who now dwell here. Most have arrived very recently. Some are very powerful and I have no choice but to obey them. They can call upon a terrible being that could obliterate me in an instant.’
‘Why were we tricked into coming here? So you could kill us? You’ve killed my master and now it’s my turn!’ I cried, reaching for my sword.
‘Draw that blade and you will no longer be under my protection!’ snapped Mistress Fresque. ‘Your master is not dead but in desperate need of your help. Calm yourself and I’ll take you to see him.’
I relinquished the hilt of my sword and nodded. The strigoica pointed to the door that led to the cellar steps. ‘He’s down there,’ she said, walking towards it.
She opened the door and, very cautiously, I followed her into the small room. A lot had changed since the previous night. The steps were clean and the walls were painted green and free of cobwebs. There were torches in brackets set at frequent intervals so our descent was well-lit. Had the Spook been down here last night, trapped in the darkness and surrounded by creatures from the dark? I wondered. I could have stayed and helped him, but instead I had panicked and run. I was ashamed of my behaviour and found it hard to explain. A lump came to my throat as I remembered the curse of the Pendle witches, which had once been used against the Spook:
You will die in a dark place far underground, with no friend at your side!
We reached the stone flags of the cellar. The only piece of furniture I could see was a wooden table, upon which stood a large black box with a hinged lid. Embossed in silver upon that lid was the image of a creature that I immediately recognized. I grew cold at the sight of it.
It was a skelt. But why was its head depicted on the box? It made me think of the
Doomdryte
’s cover, and the hilt of my sword.
I shuddered. There was something ominous about it, and my heart began to bang in my chest. Mistress Fresque walked straight up to it and lifted the lid.
‘Here is your master,’ she said.
Within the box lay the head of the Spook.
MY HEART SANK into my boots and a flood of grief washed over me. I was too shocked to reply. I felt numb, unable
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