I spent the rest of the morning wrapped in a blanket before the stove, getting the warmth back into my body. Arkwright left me alone and spent a lot of the time upstairs. I was far from happy at the methods he'd used to try and teach me to swim and certainly wasn't looking forward to my next lesson.
Late in the afternoon he led me out into the garden, this time telling me to bring my staff. He stopped in a clearing and turned to face me.
I looked at him in astonishment. He was holding his staff raised at forty-five degrees, as if he intended to hit me with it or defend himself. But he'd reversed it again so that the blade was at the bottom, the thicker end at the top.
'Turn your staff as I've done!' he commanded. 'No doubt your blade would stay retracted but we wouldn't want any accidents, would we? Now, try and hit me! Let's see what you're made of!'
I swung at him half-heartedly a few times and he parried each blow easily.
'That the best you can do?' he asked. 'I'm trying to see what you're capable of so I know how to help you improve. Try harder. Don't worry, you won't hurt me. Mr Gregory said you were good at jabbing. Let's see what you can do. '
So I tried. I really tried. I swung fast until I was breathing hard, and then finally I tried a jab — the special trick my master had taught me. You feinted with one hand before flicking the staff to the other. It was a trick that had saved my life when I'd faced the witch assassin, Grimalkin. I felt sure I'd get through Arkwright's guard but when I tried it, he knocked aside my staff with ease.
But he seemed satisfied that I'd finally tried my best and started showing me how to position my feet better as I made each lunge. We carried on until it was almost dark and then he called a halt.
'Well, Master Ward, this is only the beginning. Get a good night's sleep because it'll be an even harder day tomorrow. I'll start by getting you to work with the dogs. Then it'll be back to the canal for your second swimming lesson, followed by more combat training. Next time I'll be trying to hit you! Let's hope you can defend yourself or you'll have a bruise to show for each defensive skill you lack.'
We went in to a well-deserved supper. It had been a difficult day, to say the least, but there was one thing I did have to admit. Arkwright's methods might be harsh but he was a good teacher. I felt that I'd learned a lot already.
CHAPTER 8
The fisherman's wife
As it happened, I didn't get any training the next day. We'd no sooner finished our breakfast than there was the sound of a distant bell. It rang three times.
'Sounds like trouble,' Arkwright observed. 'Bring your staff, Master Ward. Let's go and see what the matter is. '
That said, he led the way out into the garden, across the salt moat and towards the canal. A tall elderly man was waiting beneath the bell. He was clutching a piece of paper to his chest.
'So you've decided. ' Arkwright said when we drew near.
The man nodded. He was thin as well as tall, with grey, wispy hair around his temples. It looked as though a strong gust of wind would blow him over. He held the paper out so that Arkwright could see. There were nineteen names on one side; three on the other. 'We had a vote yesterday,' he said, a plaintive whine to his voice. 'It was decided by a large majority. We don't want her living nearby. It's not right. Not right at all. '
'I told you last time,' Arkwright said, sounding irritated. 'We don't even know for sure that she is one. Have they any children?'
The thin man shook his head. 'No children, but if she is one, your dogs will know, won't they? They'll be able to tell?'
'Perhaps, but it's not always as simple as that. Anyway, I'll come and sort it out — one way or the other.'
The man nodded and hastened away northwards along the canal.
When he'd gone, Arkwright sighed. 'Not one of my favourite jobs, this. A bunch of good folks further north think a local fisherman's living with a selkie,' he said, the word 'good' heavy with sarcasm. 'They've been dithering for almost a year, trying to make up their minds. Now they want me to deal with it.'
'A selkie? What's that?' I asked.
'A selkie is a shape-shifter and what's commonly known as a "seal-woman", Master Ward. Mostly they spend their lives in the sea but occasionally they take a fancy to a man — perhaps spying him when he's out in his boat or mending his nets. The more attached to him they become, the more human they appear. The change takes a day or so at the most — they shift into a perfect female form — into the semblance of an extremely attractive woman. The fisherman usually falls head over heels in love at the very first meeting and marries the selkie.
'They can't have children, but apart from that it's a perfectly happy marriage. I don't see the harm in it, but if there's a complaint we have to act. It's part of the job. We have to make people feel safe. That means using the dogs. Selkies sometimes live amongst people for years before there's even the faintest whiff of suspicion. Mostly it's the women who stir up their menfolk to complain. They get jealous. You see, as well as having more than her fair share of beauty, a selkie hardly ages at all.'
'That fisherman — if his wife is a selkie,' I asked, 'is he likely to know?'
'After a while some work it out. But they don't complain. '
With that, Arkwright shrugged his shoulders and let out a long piercing whistle. Almost immediately it was answered by the distant barking of the dogs and they bounded up, jaws agape, teeth threatening. Soon he was leading us north, striding along the canal bank with Tooth and Claw panting at his heels and me following a few paces behind. Before long we passed the man from the village; Arkwright didn't even nod in his direction.
I didn't like the sound of this job at all and, hard though he seemed, Arkwright clearly wasn't happy about it either. In one respect, a selkie reminded me of a lamia — they could also shape-shift slowly into human form. I thought of Meg, the lamia witch my master once loved. How would he have felt if someone had gone after her with dogs? No better than the fisherman would feel when we went after his wife. My mam was probably a lamia too, just like her sisters, and I knew how my dad would feel if she were hunted down like this. The whole situation made me feel bad. If the fisherman's wife did no harm, why did she have to be hunted?
We left the canal, heading west towards the coast, and soon a level expanse of flat, light-brown sand came into view. The day was chilly — there was no warmth in the sun, although it was sparkling on the distant sea. Giving the wolfhounds a wide berth, I moved up to walk at Arkwright's side. I was curious and had questions to ask.
'Do selkies have any powers?' I asked. 'Do they use dark magic?'
He shook his head without looking at me. 'Their only real power is to shift their shape,' he replied morosely. 'Once in human shape, they can revert back in minutes if threatened.'
'Does a selkie belong to the dark?' I asked.
'Not directly,' he answered. 'They're like humans in that respect — they can go either way.'
Soon we passed through a small hamlet of seven or so houses where the faint stink of rotten fish tainted the air. There were fishing nets and a couple of small boats in view but no sign of any people. Not even a twitch of lace curtains. They must have seen Arkwright coming and knew to stay indoors.
Once clear of the hamlet, I saw a solitary cottage in the distance, and on a small hillock behind it, saw a man mending his nets. In front, on the edge of the sands, a washing line stretched from a metal hook in the wall by the front door to a wooden post. Clothes flapped on only half of the line. A woman came out of the cottage carrying an armful of wet clothes and a handful of pegs and started to hang out her washing.