Read Online Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin by Joseph Delaney - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph Delaney
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wax candle from my thigh pocket and muttered a spell that flared it into life. Thorne did likewise, and I led the way into the burial chamber, pushing my way through the curtain of spiders’ webs. Scattered on the floor lay human bones that had been dislodged from their resting place by those who had gained access to the tunnel; above them, six stone shelves housed the remains of the dead – all members of a once wealthy local family. Now they shared the luxury and riches of death.
I crawled across the lowest shelf into the space between this and the slab above, and made my way into the tunnel. There was a musty smell of damp earth and the roof was very low, forcing me to crawl on all fours. I glanced back, and Thorne gave me a grin. She had long wanted to explore these tunnels and enter the tower. Now she would get her wish. I only hoped that the cost would not be too high. For long minutes we moved slowly forward. It was difficult because I had to push the heavy leather sack ahead of me as well as keeping the candle alight, but at last we emerged into an earthen chamber. Directly opposite was the opening of another tunnel, but this was much larger, with roof supports.
‘Shall I take the lead for a while and carry the sack?’ Thorne asked.
‘By all means take the lead, child, but the sack is my burden.’
She came forward, sniffed the entrance for danger and, with a quick nod, went in.
I followed without hesitation. I trusted her judgement and at present she was probably fitter, stronger and more alert to danger than I was.
After a while we came to a pool of stagnant water, its surface the colour of mud. Here, there had once dwelt a dark creature called a wight, created by the Malkin coven to guard the tunnel. A wight is the large bloated body of a drowned sailor; it is animated by its soul, which is bound to the will of its creators. Such a creature is usually blind, its eyes having been eaten by fishes before the body was salvaged. It hides under the water and, upon sensing the approach of an interloper, reaches up to grasp the ankle of its victim, which it drags beneath the surface and drowns.
Wights are strong and dangerous, but this one had been slain by one of the lamias, who had ripped its body to pieces. Now all that remained was a faint stink of rot and death. We picked our way along the narrow slippery path that bordered the water and moved on further into the tunnel. As yet there was no hint of danger, although the lamias could well be lurking somewhere ahead, out of normal sniffing range. I could have used my necklace bones to probe further, but I needed to conserve my finite store of magic.
We reached a stout wooden door set in the stone, hanging wide-open upon its hinges. This was the entrance to the dungeons. In the days when this was a Malkin fortification, it would have been securely locked.
After sniffing for danger, Thorne led the way inside and we stepped into a dark, dank passageway flanked on either side by cells. Water dripped from above and our footsteps echoed on the damp flags. All the doors were open and no living prisoners remained, but by the flicker of our candles we saw that some contained human bones, with partial skeletons dressed in mildewed rags still manacled to walls. Many had limbs missing, bitten off and dragged away by the hordes of rats that used to frequent the dungeons. There was no sign of them now, and I soon found out why.
We reached a large, high-ceilinged, circular chamber, with stone steps curving upwards to a jagged hole. There had once been a trap door that gave access to the floor above, but the lamias had enlarged the opening to afford them easy access. My gaze quickly moved from that to the circle of five stone supporting pillars. Each was hung with manacles and chains – this was where prisoners had been tortured. The furthest pillar – the one next to a wooden table covered in instruments such as knives and pincers – was different.
At its foot was a
I crawled across the lowest shelf into the space between this and the slab above, and made my way into the tunnel. There was a musty smell of damp earth and the roof was very low, forcing me to crawl on all fours. I glanced back, and Thorne gave me a grin. She had long wanted to explore these tunnels and enter the tower. Now she would get her wish. I only hoped that the cost would not be too high. For long minutes we moved slowly forward. It was difficult because I had to push the heavy leather sack ahead of me as well as keeping the candle alight, but at last we emerged into an earthen chamber. Directly opposite was the opening of another tunnel, but this was much larger, with roof supports.
‘Shall I take the lead for a while and carry the sack?’ Thorne asked.
‘By all means take the lead, child, but the sack is my burden.’
She came forward, sniffed the entrance for danger and, with a quick nod, went in.
I followed without hesitation. I trusted her judgement and at present she was probably fitter, stronger and more alert to danger than I was.
After a while we came to a pool of stagnant water, its surface the colour of mud. Here, there had once dwelt a dark creature called a wight, created by the Malkin coven to guard the tunnel. A wight is the large bloated body of a drowned sailor; it is animated by its soul, which is bound to the will of its creators. Such a creature is usually blind, its eyes having been eaten by fishes before the body was salvaged. It hides under the water and, upon sensing the approach of an interloper, reaches up to grasp the ankle of its victim, which it drags beneath the surface and drowns.
Wights are strong and dangerous, but this one had been slain by one of the lamias, who had ripped its body to pieces. Now all that remained was a faint stink of rot and death. We picked our way along the narrow slippery path that bordered the water and moved on further into the tunnel. As yet there was no hint of danger, although the lamias could well be lurking somewhere ahead, out of normal sniffing range. I could have used my necklace bones to probe further, but I needed to conserve my finite store of magic.
We reached a stout wooden door set in the stone, hanging wide-open upon its hinges. This was the entrance to the dungeons. In the days when this was a Malkin fortification, it would have been securely locked.
After sniffing for danger, Thorne led the way inside and we stepped into a dark, dank passageway flanked on either side by cells. Water dripped from above and our footsteps echoed on the damp flags. All the doors were open and no living prisoners remained, but by the flicker of our candles we saw that some contained human bones, with partial skeletons dressed in mildewed rags still manacled to walls. Many had limbs missing, bitten off and dragged away by the hordes of rats that used to frequent the dungeons. There was no sign of them now, and I soon found out why.
We reached a large, high-ceilinged, circular chamber, with stone steps curving upwards to a jagged hole. There had once been a trap door that gave access to the floor above, but the lamias had enlarged the opening to afford them easy access. My gaze quickly moved from that to the circle of five stone supporting pillars. Each was hung with manacles and chains – this was where prisoners had been tortured. The furthest pillar – the one next to a wooden table covered in instruments such as knives and pincers – was different.
At its foot was a
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