Joseph Delaney - The Spook's Mistake

It was the mark of Grimalkin. In the summer she'd been sent by the Malkins to hunt me down and I'd tricked her and barely escaped with my life. But now she was back. Why had she left Pendle?

'Have they sent her after me again?' I asked fearfully. 'She's not another daughter of the Fiend, is she?'

The Spook sighed. 'It's impossible to say, lad, but not to my knowledge. Something's afoot though. Last week, when I travelled to Pendle, I kept my distance from the witch clans, confining my visit to Malkin Tower. But something was brewing. I passed several cottages that had been burned out and there were bodies rotting in Crow Wood — from all three clans: Malkins, Deanes and Mouldheels. It looked like there'd been some sort of battle. The dark may be at war with itself. But why's Grimalkin come north? It may not be for you at all, but it does seem something of a coincidence that the two of you should both be here. Anyway, she's put her warning mark close to the shore so let's be extra vigilant.'

Late in the afternoon we came within sight of Belle Isle. As we drew nearer, I saw that it was far closer to the lake shore than I'd expected, its nearest point probably no more than a hundred and fifty yards out.

There were jetties close by from where ferrymen plied their trade, but while they'd have taken us to the far shore of the lake for a pittance, not even a silver coin could hire a boat for the short trip to the island.

When asked why, each man was evasive. 'Not a place to be, night or day. Not if you value your sanity,'

warned the third ferryman we approached. Then, probably tired of the Spook's persistence, he pointed towards a dilapidated rowing boat tied up amongst the reeds. 'Woman who owns that boat might just be daft enough to take you.'

'Where will we find her?' asked the Spook.

'Back there about a mile and you'll be at the door of her cottage,' the man said with an ugly laugh, pointing vaguely north along the bank. 'Daft Deana, she's known as. But Deana Beck is her real name! She's the best you'll get for that job!'

'Why's she daft?' the Spook demanded with a frown. It was clear that he was annoyed by the man's attitude.

'Because the old girl doesn't know what's good for her!' retorted the ferryman. 'No family to worry about, has she? And so old she doesn't care for living that much. Nobody with even half the sense they were born with goes near that hag-ridden isle.'

'There are witches on the island?' asked the Spook.

'They visit from time to time. Lots of witches, if you look close enough, but most sensible folk turn the other way. Pretend it isn't happening. You go and speak to Daft Deana.'

The ferryman was still laughing as we walked away. Soon we arrived at a small thatched cottage set against a steep, wooded incline. The Spook rapped at the door while Claw padded up to the water's edge and stared out across the lake towards the island. After a few moments there was the sound of bars being drawn back and the door opened no more than the width of the suspicious eye that regarded us from within.

'Be off with ye!' growled a gruff voice that didn't sound a bit like that of a woman. 'Vagabonds and beggars aren't wanted here.'

'We aren't here to beg,' explained the Spook patiently. 'My name is John Gregory. I need your help and for that I'm prepared to pay well. You're highly recommended.'

'Highly recommended, am I? Then let's see the colour of your money. '

The Spook reached into his cloak, pulled a silver coin from his pocket and held it towards the gap in the doorway. 'That in advance and the same again when you've done the work.'

'What work? What work? Spit it out! Don't be wasting my time.'

'We need to get across to Belle Isle. Can you do that? That and get us back safely?'

A gnarled hand emerged slowly into the daylight and the Spook dropped the coin into the palm, which instantly closed tightly. 'I can certainly do that,' said the voice, softening a little. 'But the trip won't be without danger. Best come inside and warm your bones.'

The door opened wide and we were confronted by the sight of Deana Beck: she was dressed in leather trousers, a grimy smock and big hobnailed boots. Her white hair was cropped short, and for a moment she looked like a man. But the eyes, which flickered with intelligence, were soft and female and the lips formed a perfect bow. Her face was lined with age but her body was sturdy and she looked strong and robust, well able to row us out to the island.

The room was empty but for a small table in the corner. The hard stone floor was strewn with rushes and Deana hunkered down close to the fire and gestured that we should do the same.

'Comfortable, are ye?' she asked when we'd settled down.

'My old bones prefer a chair,' answered the Spook dryly. 'But vagabonds and beggars can't be choosers.'

She smiled at that and nodded. 'Well, I've managed all my life without the comfort of a chair,' she said, her voice now much lighter and with a lilt to it. 'So tell me now, why do ye want to go out to the island? What brings a spook to Belle Isle? Are you here to deal with the witches?'

'Not directly, unless they get in our way,' admitted the Spook. 'Not on this occasion anyway. A colleague of mine has been missing for days and we've good reason to believe he's somewhere out there on the island.'

'And what makes you so sure?'

'We consulted a dowser — Judd Atkins from Cartmel.'

'I met the man once,' Deana said, nodding. 'He found a body in the lake not too far from here. Well, if Atkins says he's out there, then he probably is. But how did he get there? That's what I want to know.'

The Spook sighed. 'He was abducted while trying to deal with a water witch. It could well be that some locals are involved as well — either from Coniston or one of the other villages.'

I watched Deana Beck's face carefully to see what her reaction would be. Was she mixed up in this? Could we trust her?

'It's a hard life up here,' she said at last. 'And you have to do what you can to survive. Most just turn a blind eye but there are always some that have dealings with the dark forces that lurk in water. They do what has to be done in order to ensure their own safety and the needs of their families. When the breadwinner dies, his family have a hard time of it. They sometimes starve.'

'And what about you, Deana Beck?' demanded the Spook, staring at her hard. 'Have you dealt with the dark?'

Deana shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'I'll have no truck with witches. None at all. Never had a family of my own and I've led a long and lonely life. I don't regret it though, because now I've no kin to worry about. Just having to care for yourself makes you less afraid. It makes you stronger. The witches don't scare me. I do what I want.'

'So when can you row us out there?' asked the Spook.

'As soon as darkness falls. We wouldn't want to be going there in daylight. Anybody might be watching — maybe those who put your friend on the island in the first place, and we wouldn't want to meet them.'

'That we wouldn't,' said the Spook.

Deana offered to share her supper but the Spook declined for all of us. I was forced to watch her tuck into a piping hot rabbit stew while my mouth watered and my stomach rumbled. Soon it would be dark and we'd face whatever was out there on the island.

Wearing long waders that reached up to her thighs, Deana Beck led us along the lake shore, a lantern in each hand. The moon wasn't yet up and there was scant light from the stars, but she didn't light them. The dark would help to shield us from anyone who might be lying in wait ahead or watching from the island. I walked beside the Spook, carrying my staff and his bag; Alice was a few paces behind. Claw continued to trot around us, her black coat now making her almost invisible. When she came close, only the light padding of her feet gave away her position.