Read Online The Seventh Apprentice by Joseph Delaney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joseph Delaney
Ads: Link
and I suddenly decided to read it from cover to cover when we returned to the house—if indeed he wanted to take me back with him after what had happened. I resolved there and then that if my master gave me another chance, I would work really hard.
“Will you put Circe in the Bestiary now?” I asked him.
“I’ll consider it, lad. As I said, that witch cast very powerful spells of illusion, some of which took effect even before you drank that potion. Marble pillars like that are often found in Greece, and the fact that the witch appeared to turn people into pigs certainly makes you think. It might well have been Circe. Those old stories sometimes turn out to be true. . . .”
“What was the creature I killed?” I wondered. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Most likely it was her familiar—a creature from the dark that did her bidding. You did well to put paid to it with your staff.”
It was rare to receive praise from the Spook, and it made me hope that maybe this wouldn’t be the end of my apprenticeship.
We had almost reached the valley floor when I heard a noise. Someone was approaching through the mist ahead of us.
“Did you hear that?” I asked my master.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he said.
I tensed as he readied his staff, then relaxed as he lowered it, seeing that it was Peter who was shuffling out of the mist toward us.
He looked a mess. His clothes and hair were covered with stinking slime, but at least he was walking upright again. Then I noticed the knives at his belt—and the expression on his face . . . I’ll never forget it! He looked content, pleased with himself. He looked like someone satisfied with a job well done.
“I’ve dealt with the body of the pig witch,” he told us. “She won’t be coming back from the dead.”
I stared at him; at the blood smeared across his lips.
I knew then that Peter had eaten her heart.
CHAPTER XI
H AIRY E ARS
T HE Spook made Peter wait at the top of the hill while we did what was necessary. It was dawn now, and Peter had fully recovered his human senses, though he seemed to have little memory of his time as a pig. He barely reacted at the news that his father was dead and seemed bemused by what had happened; no doubt he would feel sorrow later.
The mist had gone—no doubt it had been part of the witch’s dark magic, summoned to cloak her lair. As we approached the farm, the wintry sun came out, but there was no warmth in it.
I found a spade in the barn, and we buried the remains of the pig witch in one of the pens. The ground was frozen, and the digging proved difficult. The Spook left it all to me, but I didn’t complain. I knew that I was lucky to be alive.
After that we went over to the slaughter pen, undid the chains, and lowered the bodies to the ground. Next we located the Spook’s silver chain, and I retrieved my staff and bag before climbing the hill to rejoin Peter.
On our way to Blackburn, we found a priest willing to say prayers over Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson and Peter’s father. Priests don’t usually care for spooks, but if this one was nervous, he didn’t show it: He helped us find a horse and cart to bring the bodies to the churchyard, even performing the burial service himself.
After the prayers, the three bodies were laid to rest. As we left the church, the bell mournfully tolling in the distance, it started to snow. We were going to have a white Christmas, the first for many years. It didn’t usually snow until January or February.
“Is your mother still alive?” the Spook asked Peter.
Peter shook his head sadly. “She died from a fever soon after I was born. My dad brought me up by himself. He was a good dad. He taught me a lot about the job.” I saw two tears trickle down his cheeks.
“It seems to me that your dad has prepared you well to follow in his footsteps. Is that what you propose to do?” the Spook asked kindly.
Peter shrugged. “I’d like to . . . though the cart
“Will you put Circe in the Bestiary now?” I asked him.
“I’ll consider it, lad. As I said, that witch cast very powerful spells of illusion, some of which took effect even before you drank that potion. Marble pillars like that are often found in Greece, and the fact that the witch appeared to turn people into pigs certainly makes you think. It might well have been Circe. Those old stories sometimes turn out to be true. . . .”
“What was the creature I killed?” I wondered. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Most likely it was her familiar—a creature from the dark that did her bidding. You did well to put paid to it with your staff.”
It was rare to receive praise from the Spook, and it made me hope that maybe this wouldn’t be the end of my apprenticeship.
We had almost reached the valley floor when I heard a noise. Someone was approaching through the mist ahead of us.
“Did you hear that?” I asked my master.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he said.
I tensed as he readied his staff, then relaxed as he lowered it, seeing that it was Peter who was shuffling out of the mist toward us.
He looked a mess. His clothes and hair were covered with stinking slime, but at least he was walking upright again. Then I noticed the knives at his belt—and the expression on his face . . . I’ll never forget it! He looked content, pleased with himself. He looked like someone satisfied with a job well done.
“I’ve dealt with the body of the pig witch,” he told us. “She won’t be coming back from the dead.”
I stared at him; at the blood smeared across his lips.
I knew then that Peter had eaten her heart.
CHAPTER XI
H AIRY E ARS
T HE Spook made Peter wait at the top of the hill while we did what was necessary. It was dawn now, and Peter had fully recovered his human senses, though he seemed to have little memory of his time as a pig. He barely reacted at the news that his father was dead and seemed bemused by what had happened; no doubt he would feel sorrow later.
The mist had gone—no doubt it had been part of the witch’s dark magic, summoned to cloak her lair. As we approached the farm, the wintry sun came out, but there was no warmth in it.
I found a spade in the barn, and we buried the remains of the pig witch in one of the pens. The ground was frozen, and the digging proved difficult. The Spook left it all to me, but I didn’t complain. I knew that I was lucky to be alive.
After that we went over to the slaughter pen, undid the chains, and lowered the bodies to the ground. Next we located the Spook’s silver chain, and I retrieved my staff and bag before climbing the hill to rejoin Peter.
On our way to Blackburn, we found a priest willing to say prayers over Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson and Peter’s father. Priests don’t usually care for spooks, but if this one was nervous, he didn’t show it: He helped us find a horse and cart to bring the bodies to the churchyard, even performing the burial service himself.
After the prayers, the three bodies were laid to rest. As we left the church, the bell mournfully tolling in the distance, it started to snow. We were going to have a white Christmas, the first for many years. It didn’t usually snow until January or February.
“Is your mother still alive?” the Spook asked Peter.
Peter shook his head sadly. “She died from a fever soon after I was born. My dad brought me up by himself. He was a good dad. He taught me a lot about the job.” I saw two tears trickle down his cheeks.
“It seems to me that your dad has prepared you well to follow in his footsteps. Is that what you propose to do?” the Spook asked kindly.
Peter shrugged. “I’d like to . . . though the cart
Similar Books
