Joseph Delaney - The Spook's Mistake

His words cheered me up, and as we headed back to the cave, I began to look forward to my supper. But it proved a disappointment. The broth was bitter, and at the first mouthful I pulled a face. I wondered what was in it.

Arkwright just smiled at my distaste. 'Eat it all up, Master Ward! That's the best herb soup you'll get north of Caster. Judd here is a vegetarian. The dogs'll eat better than us tonight.'

The hermit gave no sign that he was insulted by Arkwright's remarks, but out of respect I made myself empty my bowl of broth and then thanked him. Whatever was in it, I had my best night's sleep since leaving Chipenden.

There was no breakfast. Soon after dawn Judd Atkins opened up the lakes map and laid it out on the ground near the embers of the fire.

'Right!' he said at last, staring down at it. 'I've had a good night's sleep and I'm feeling much better. Should be able to find her now. '

So saying, he pulled two items from his breeches pocket. One was a short length of fine string; the other was the severed witch's finger. He then tied one end of the string to the finger.

The hermit saw me watching and smiled. 'Before I retreated from this wicked world, I was a dowser, Thomas. Mostly I used a birch twig to find water. Many of the wells to the north of the County were found by me. Occasionally I found missing people too. I could suspend a shred of clothing or a locket of hair above a map until my hand twitched. Sadly, many of those I located were already dead, but their families were still grateful to find a body to bury in hallowed ground. Now, let's see if I can find myself a water witch called Morwena. '

Arkwright moved closer and we both watched as the hermit began a systematic search. Moving the suspended finger slowly from west to east, then east to west, he made steady sweeps across the width of the map, moving slightly further north each time. After less than a minute his hand suddenly twitched. He paused, took a deep breath, moved his hand to the right and brought it back again very smoothly and steadily. It twitched again, this time jerking upwards so that the witch's finger danced on the end of the string.

'Mark that, William!' he called, and Arkwright walked across, knelt down and made a small cross. That done, the hermit continued to traverse the map. Soon his hand twitched again. Within moments the severed finger was once more dancing on the string as he identified a third location. Each time, Arkwright marked the spot very carefully. The hermit continued but found nothing more to report.

All three crosses were to the west of Coniston Water: the first was on its north-west shore; the second marked a very small lake called Goat's Water; the third, further to the north, was called Leven's Water.

'So is it all of them, old man, or are you simply not sure?' Arkwright asked, impatience strong in his voice.

'Is to be certain to be right? We must always allow room for doubt, William. It could well be all three. I'm sure she spends some time at each location,' came the reply. 'There could even be others further north than you asked me to investigate. I got the strongest reaction from the Coniston shore, but I also feel that she roams the whole area west of that lake. Do you know the place well?'

'I've had cause to work up there more than once but I don't know the lake's northern extremity, on the border of the County. They're a surly lot up there in Coniston, set in their ways, and don't take kindly to outsiders. They'd rather suffer in silence than bring in a spook from the south.'

Wisely, I kept my thoughts to myself, but I thought that was a bit much coming from someone as unfriendly as Arkwright, who could barely tolerate an apprentice in his house.

Just when we were about to set off, the weather closed in, the west wind driving the rain hard against the hillside so that it drummed on the roof of the cave and encroached into its entrance, at times hissing into the edge of the fire.

'You daft old man,' Arkwright taunted. 'Why on earth choose a cave with a entrance facing the prevailing winds?'

'The cold and wet are good for the soul. Why do you live in a house on the edge of a swamp when you could live more healthily up in the bracing air?' Judd Atkins retaliated.

Anger flickered across Arkwright's brow but he said nothing. He lived there because it had been his parents' house, and now that his mother's spirit was trapped, he couldn't leave them. The hermit probably knew nothing of that, otherwise he would surely not have spoken so cruelly.

Because of the inclement weather, Arkwright decided to stay for one more night and then head north towards Coniston at first light. While Judd built up the fire, Arkwright took me fishing in the pouring rain. I thought he'd use a rod or a net but he had a method he called 'tickling'.

'Never go hungry if you can do this!' he told me.

It consisted of lying on his belly on the wet river bank with his arms plunged into the cold water. The idea was to tickle the belly of the trout so that it moved backwards into your hand, at which point you flipped it up onto the grass. He showed me the technique but it took a lot of patience and no trout came even within reach of my hands. Arkwright caught two, however, which he soon cooked to perfection. The hermit simply sipped more of his broth, which meant that Arkwright and I got a whole fish each. They were delicious and soon I was feeling much better.

But then it was more fighting with staffs. I got off lightly, ending up with just one bruise on my arm, but Arkwright fought me to a standstill and I was exhausted. So I slept well in that cave. It was certainly more restful than the mill.

By dawn the rain had ceased and we set off without further delay, heading north towards the lakes.

The Spook had certainly been right about the scenery in this part of the County. As we reached Coniston Water and skirted its western tree-lined shore, all about us were sights to delight the eye. The slopes to the east were forested with deciduous and coniferous trees, the latter providing greenery to brighten the sombre late autumn day. The cloud was high so there was a spectacular view of the mountains to the north, and the rain had evidently been falling as snow up there, causing their peaks to gleam white against the grey sky.

Arkwright seemed in a slightly more cheerful mood so, tired of the long silence — he hadn't spoken a word since we'd left the hermit's cave — I risked a question.

'That mountain ahead, is that the Old Man of Coniston?'

'That it is, Master Ward, as you should well know — you'll be familiar with it after our study of that map yesterday. Quite a sight, isn't it? Far higher than the fells behind Mr Gregory's house. It attracts the eye, but sometimes places of equal significance don't stand out so much. See that bank over there?' he said, pointing across to the eastern shore of the lake.

I nodded.

'Well, that's the spot where I slew the Coniston Ripper. Right under that very bank. Probably the best thing I've done since completing my time with Mr Gregory. But if I could catch or kill Morwena, that would top it for sure.'

Something approaching a grin creased Arkwright's face and he even began to whistle low and tunelessly while the dogs circled us, snapping at the air in their excitement.

We entered Coniston village from the south. There were few people about but those we saw seemed unfriendly; some even crossed to the other side of the street rather than pass close to us. It was only to be expected. Most people were nervous at being close to a spook, even in Chipenden where Mr Gregory had lived for years. My master liked to keep his distance and avoided walking through the centre, and when I collected the provisions, not everybody was as friendly as the shopkeepers, who welcomed our regular custom.