Still, at least I knew that she hadn’t been seized by the Fiend and dragged off to the dark. Things looked grim, but as my dad used to say, while there’s life there’s hope.
‘Right! Let’s make a start!’ Lord Barrule said, and as he returned to his seat, the guards dragged me to the very centre of the long chamber. A dozen yeomen came in, each gripping a long spear, and formed a wide circle about me; then each went down on one knee, facing me, so that the gamblers behind would still have a clear view. Their spears were pointing inwards, and it was clear that their purpose was to mark the boundary of the arena and prevent any escape or retreat from the contest.
Lord Barrule stood up and raised his hand, and I heard a commotion from the doorway; the same one from which I’d entered. Bony Lizzie was brought into the room, kicking and struggling – it took four men to control her.
Two of the yeomen guards moved aside to allow them into the circle, and she was forced to face me. It was the Lizzie I remembered – almost the spitting image of Alice, but older, in her late thirties perhaps, and with shifty eyes and a sneering expression. Her lips were stitched together just like Alice’s. The moment she saw me, the witch stopped struggling and a strange, sly look came into her eyes; one of calculation and cunning.
Someone behind me pushed my staff into my left hand. Instantly I transferred it to my right, feeling in the left pocket of my cloak to check my silver chain. That would offer me the best chance of victory. One disadvantage was that I still ached from the beating I’d received when I was captured. The food I’d eaten had made me stronger physically but I was far from my best.
One of the yeomen handed Lizzie two long knives, each murderously sharp. Our eyes met again and I released the retractable blade on my staff with a click and held it diagonally across me. Lizzie might not realize that I had the chain. For now, I would keep it in reserve.
Lord Barrule clapped his hands three times, and silence fell over the gathering. I could hear Lizzie breathing hard through her nose, almost snorting. I suddenly remembered something about her: in the past she’d always seemed to have her mouth slightly open – no doubt she naturally breathed through it. Or maybe she had a cold? Either way it would be to my advantage if she were struggling for air.
‘Let the contest begin!’ cried Lord Barrule. ‘A fight to the death!’
Wasting no time, Lizzie lunged at me with the blade in her left hand, but I parried it with my staff and began to retreat widdershins, against the clock, moving warily in a slow circle. Her face began to change, eyes bulging. Now, instead of hair, a nest of black snakes writhed from her scalp, forked tongues flickering, their fangs spitting a cloud of venom towards me. A wave of fear washed over me, and I staggered and took a step backwards, a chill gripping my heart.
She was using dread against me – the enchantment used by malevolent witches to make themselves terrifying, freezing their helpless opponents to the spot. Such was Lizzie’s power that she could cast it without the incantation. What would she be capable of if her mouth were not stitched?
I took a deep breath and resisted. I’d faced worse than this last summer in Greece when I’d tried to enter the Ord, the terrifying citadel of the Ordeen. If I could withstand that terrible pulse of fear – it had caused the instant death of brave warriors – I could overcome whatever Lizzie could throw at me.
I stepped forward and swung my staff at her head. She leaned back, almost overbalancing, and retreated. Now the snakes had disappeared, to be replaced by hair again; her face almost human. The spell was fading. And then a voice spoke right inside my head…
Fool! We should work together!
Was it the buggane? But it was a harsh, sibilant voice – not the insidious whisper that I’d been told about. Then I heard it again:
Neither of us can win here. He intends to slay us both!
It had to be Lizzie. But how was she doing it? What spell could grant her that power?
I refused to listen and whirled in fast, avoided a stab from her left hand then cracked her on the right wrist to send the blade spinning from her hand.
There were loud whoops of excitement from the spectators – along with a few groans. I wondered what Lizzie was doing. How could we work together? Was she mad? How could we hope to escape from this room together?
Help me! Do it for my daughter, Alice, or we’ll all die here!
Her use of Alice’s name angered me, and I thrust my left hand into my pocket and coiled the silver chain about my wrist. As I did so, Lizzie attacked, moving in quickly and catching me off balance. I leaned away but I wasn’t fast enough. I felt a sharp pain as her blade slit my forehead below the hairline. I staggered backwards, just managing to block the next blow with my staff, and felt warm blood running down into my left eye. How bad was the cut? I wondered. How deep?
I used the back of my hand to wipe it from my eye, but it only made it worse. I could hardly see out of it now. You needed both eyes to judge distance correctly so I knew I’d have to use my silver chain quickly now, or it would be too late. Once again I thrust my left hand into my pocket and coiled the chain about my wrist.
It was easier to cast a chain about a witch when she was moving right, left or away from you. But Lizzie was attacking again, running straight for me: this was the most difficult shot of all. I had no choice but to attempt it, so I cracked the chain, sending it spiralling towards her.
It dropped over her head, then down over her body, bringing her to her knees. The remaining knife fell from her grasp as the chain tightened. It wasn’t a perfect shot because it had dropped over her from shoulder to knee, leaving her head free. Usually a spook needed to bind a witch’s mouth so that she couldn’t chant dark magic spells, but this time it didn’t matter because her mouth was already stitched shut. A wave of relief washed over me. Under the circumstances the shot wasn’t so bad after all. I’d won. Throwing the chain was a skill I had honed to a fine art. All those long hours of practice with the post in the Spook’s garden had paid off again.
And then there was a brief moment of doubt. Had it been a little too easy? I thought to myself. Was this defeat serving Lizzie’s purpose in some way?
‘Kill her!’ shouted the Lord Barrule, rising to his feet.
I lifted my staff and pointed the blade at Lizzie’s heart… But then I hesitated… I couldn’t do it. I’d killed other creatures of the dark before, but never in cold blood like this. Usually, whether bound or not, they’d still presented a threat to me and I’d had to do it quickly. But Bony Lizzie was secure. There was no way she could hope to free herself. Not only that – she was Alice’s mother. There was no love lost between them but it made it hard. So I lowered my staff…
Well done, boy! I heard Lizzie hiss. Now see what I’ve got planned!
I looked up at Lord Barrule, who was shaking his head. ‘Can’t bring yourself to do it?’ he called out, his voice echoing around the chamber. ‘I’m surprised. What sort of master trained you? What kind of a spook’s apprentice are you? That was our bargain: kill the witch to gain what I promised. Now you’ll have to do something else to earn your freedom. You’ll fight the witch’s pet!’
My heart sank right down into my boots. He was going to make me fight Alice and there was no way out of it. Two yeomen went over to the far cage. I stared in horror as they pulled her out. The sight of her twisted my insides, wrenching my emotions. Her eyes were wild and full of pain, and what had been done to her mouth was cruel beyond belief. The twine that bound her lips together was cutting into the soft flesh, making them red and swollen.
They dragged her into the circle of spears to face me. Lizzie’s blades were pushed into her hands. There was a murmur of conversation from the gamblers and the chink of money as the bets were placed once more. I struggled to think of some way out of our predicament but nothing came. It seemed hopeless. Whatever happened, one of us would die.