The Spook's Mistake

CHAPTER 5 A shrill high scream

I found Arkwright's comments about the dead very strange. Why would he allow them to disturb the tranquillity of his house? Surely it was his duty to give them peace by sending them towards the light? That's certainly what the Spook would have done. But my master had already explained that Arkwright might do things differently and it would be my duty to adapt to his ways.

I looked about, now able to see the room properly for the first time. It was not in the least inviting — it wasn't really a living room at all. The windows were boarded up, so no wonder it had been gloomy. No doubt it had been used for storage when the building was a working mill. There was no fireplace, and apart from the table the only items of furniture were two hard-backed wooden chairs, standing in opposite corners of the room. But there were several crates of wine stacked against the wall and a long row of empty bottles. Dust and cobwebs festooned the walls and ceiling, and although the front door opened directly into the room, Arkwright clearly used it only as a means to reach the other parts of the house.

I moved my bag away from the door, before closing and locking it. Next I took the candle from the table and went through to the kitchen. The window over the sink wasn't boarded up but it was still very foggy outside and the light was starting to fail. On the window ledge lay one of the biggest knives I'd ever seen. It certainly wasn't for the preparation of food! However, the kitchen was tidier than I'd expected, free of dust, with plates, cups and pans neatly stacked in wall cupboards and a small dining table and three wooden chairs. I found the larder filled with cheese, ham, bacon and half a loaf.

Rather than a fireplace there was a large stove, wider than it was tall, with two doors and an iron chimney that twisted over it to enter the ceiling above. The lefthand door opened to reveal a frying pan; the right was filled with wood and straw, ready for lighting. No doubt this was the only way to heat and cook in a wooden building like this.

Wasting no time, I used my tinderbox to light the stove. The kitchen soon filled with warmth and then I began frying three generous rashers of bacon. The bread was dry and past its best but still good enough to toast. There was no butter but the food went down very well and I was soon feeling much better.

I began to feel sleepy so I decided to go upstairs and look at the bedrooms, hoping to work out which one was intended for me. I carried the candle with me and it proved to be a wise decision. The stairs could hardly have been darker. On the first floor there were four doors. The first led to a lumber room full of empty boxes, dirty sheets, blankets and miscellaneous rubbish which gave off an unpleasant smell of mould and decay. The walls had damp patches and some of the heaped sheets were heavily mildewed. The next two doors each led to single bedrooms. In the first, the crumpled sheets showed that the bed had been slept in; the second contained a bed with a bare mattress. Was that meant to be mine? If so, I longed to be back in Chipenden. There was no other furniture in the bleak, uninviting room and the air was chilly and damp.

The fourth room had a large double bed in it. The blankets lay in an untidy heap at its foot, and again the sheets were rumpled. Something didn't feel right in this room and the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. I shivered, lifted the candle higher and approached the bed. It actually looked wet, and when I touched it lightly with my fingers, I found it saturated. It couldn't have been wetter if someone had emptied half a dozen bucketfuls of water over it. I looked up at the ceiling but could see no hole there nor any signs of staining due to leaks. How had it got so wet? I quickly backed away through the door, closing it firmly behind me.

The more I thought about it, the less I liked this floor. There was another level above but Arkwright had warned me to keep away, so I decided to take his advice and sleep on the kitchen floor. At least it didn't feel damp and the heat from the stove would keep me warm until morning.

Just after midnight something woke me. The kitchen was in almost total darkness, with just the faintest of glows from the stove.

What had disturbed me? Had Arkwright returned home? But the hairs on the back of my neck were rising again and I shivered. As a seventh son of a seventh son, I see and hear things that other people don't. Arkwright had said that the unquiet dead were present in the house. If so, more than likely I'd soon know about it.

Just then there was a deep rumbling sound from somewhere below that vibrated right through the walls of the mill. What was it? It seemed to be getting louder and louder.

I was intrigued but I decided not to get up. Arkwright had told me to do nothing. It was none of my business. Even so, the noise was scary and disturbing and I couldn't get back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually I worked out what the sound was. The waterwheel. The waterwheel was turning! Or at least it sounded like it.

Then there was a shrill scream and the rumbling stopped as quickly as it had started. It was a scream so terrible and filled with such extreme anguish that I covered my ears. Of course, that didn't help. The sound was inside my head — the remnants of something that had taken place many years earlier in this mill. I was listening to someone in terrible pain.

At last the scream faded away and everything became peaceful and quiet again. What I'd heard would have been enough to drive most people from the building. I was a spook's apprentice and such things were part of the job but I still felt scared — my whole body was trembling. Arkwright had said that nothing here would harm me but there was something strange going on. Something more than just a routine haunting.

Even so, gradually I became calmer, and soon I was fast asleep again.

I slept well, too well. It was long past sunrise when I awoke to find that someone else was with me in the kitchen.

'Well, boy!' a deep voice boomed. 'You're easily taken unawares. It doesn't pay to sleep too deeply in these parts. Nowhere is safe!'

I sat up quickly, then stumbled clumsily to my feet. Facing me was a spook, holding his staff in his left hand and a bag in his right. And what a bag! It could have easily contained both my master's and my own within it. Then I noticed the tip of the staff. My master's staff and mine both had retractable blades but this one was clearly visible, a wicked-looking knife at least twelve inches long, with six backward-facing barbs, three on each side.

'Mr Arkwright?' I asked. 'I'm Tom Ward. '

'Aye, I'm Bill Arkwright, and I guessed who you must be. I'm pleased to meet you, Master Ward. Your master speaks highly of you.'

I stared at him, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. He wasn't quite as tall as my master but he was sturdier in a sort of wiry way that suggested strength. His face was gaunt and he had large green eyes and a strikingly bald head, from which not even a solitary hair sprouted — it was shaved as closely as that of a monk. On his left cheek was a vivid scar, which looked to be from a wound recently inflicted.

I also saw that his lips were stained purple. The Spook didn't drink, but once, when he'd been ill, raving with the fever, he'd drunk a whole bottle of red wine. Afterwards his lips had been that same purple colour.

Arkwright leaned his staff against the wall next to the inner door, then put down his bag. There was a chink of glass as it made contact with the kitchen floor. He held out his hand towards me. I shook it. 'Mr Gregory thinks well of you too,' I told him, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the guinea. 'He sent you this to help towards my keep..'

Arkwright took it from me, put it to his mouth and bit into it hard. He inspected it closely, then smiled and nodded his thanks. He'd checked to make sure it was a real guinea made out of gold rather than some counterfeit. That annoyed me. Did he think my master would try to cheat him? Or was it me he suspected?

'Let's trust each other for a while, Master Ward,' he said, 'and see how we get on. Let's allow time enough to give us a chance to judge each other.'

'My master said you'd have lots to teach me about the area north of Caster,' I continued, trying not to show my irritation about the guinea. 'About things that come out of the water. '

'Aye, I'll be teaching you about that all right, but mostly I'll be toughening you up. Are you strong, Master Ward?'

'Quite strong for my age,' I said uncertainly.

'Sure about that, are you?' Arkwright said, looking me up and down. 'I think you'll need a bit more muscle on you to survive in this job! Any good at armwrestling?'

'Never tried it before. '

'Well, you can try it now. It'll give me an idea of what needs to be done. Come over here and sit yourself down!' he commanded, leading the way to the table.

I'd been the youngest by three years and had missed those family games, but I remembered my brothers Jack and James arm-wrestling at the kitchen table back at the farm. In those days Jack always won because he was older, taller and stronger. I would be at the same disadvantage against Arkwright.

I sat down facing him and we placed our left arms together and locked hands. With my elbow on the table, my arm was shorter than his. I did my best but he exerted a strong, steady pressure, and despite my best attempts to resist he bent my arm back until it was flat against the table,

'That the best you can do?' he asked. 'What about if we give you a little help?'

So saying, he went over to his bag and returned carrying his notebook. 'Here, put this under your elbow. '

With the notebook raising my elbow from the tabletop, my arm was almost as long as his. So when I felt the first steady pressure from his arm, I brought all my strength to bear just as suddenly as I could. To my satisfaction I managed to force his arm a little way back, and I saw the surprise in his eyes. But then he countered with a strength that forced my arm to the surface of the table in seconds. With a grunt, he released my hand and stood up while I rubbed my sore muscles.

'That was better,' he said, 'but you need to harden those muscles if you're going to survive. Hungry, Master Ward?'

I nodded.

'Right then, I'll cook us some breakfast and after that we'd better start getting to know each other.'

He opened his bag to reveal two empty wine bottles — along with other provisions: cheese, eggs, ham, pork and two large fish. 'Caught this morning, these!' he exclaimed. 'Don't come much fresher. We'll have one between us now and the other for breakfast tomorrow. Ever cooked fish?'

I shook my head.

'No, you've got the luxury of that boggart doing all your chores for you,' said Arkwright, shaking his own head in disapproval. 'Well, here we have to do things for ourselves. So you'd better watch me while I cook this fish because you'll be doing the other one tomorrow. You don't mind doing your share of the cooking, do you?'

'Of course not,' I replied. I just hoped I'd be able to manage. The Spook didn't think much of my cooking.

'That's all right then. When we've finished breakfast, I'll show you around the mill. We'll see if you're as brave as your master makes out.'