The Spook's Apprentice by Joseph Delaney Read Free Book Online

Chipenden.’
    It seemed an odd thing to say. Did he always go to Chipenden on the first day of the spring, and if so, why? So I asked him.
    ‘Summer quarters. We winter on the edge of Anglezarke Moor and spend the summer in Chipenden.’
    ‘I’ve never heard of Anglezarke. Where’s that?’ I asked.
    ‘To the far south of the County, lad. It’s the place where I was born. We lived there until my father moved us to Horshaw.’
    Still, at least I’d heard of Chipenden so that made me feel better. It struck me that, as the Spook’s apprentice, I’d be doing a lot of travelling and would have to learn how to find my way about.
    Without further delay we changed direction, heading north-east towards the distant hills. I didn’t ask any more questions, but that night, as we sheltered in a cold barn once more and supper was just a few more bites of the yellow cheese, my stomach began to think that my throat had been cut. I’d never been so hungry.
    I wondered where we’d be staying in Chipenden and if we’d get something proper to eat there. I didn’t know anyone who’d ever been there but it was supposed to be a remote, unfriendly place somewhere up in the fells - the distant grey and purple hills that were just visible from my dad’s farm. They always looked to me like huge sleeping beasts, but that was probably the fault of one of my uncles, who used to tell me tales like that. At night, he said, they started to move, and by dawn whole villages had sometimes disappeared from the face of the earth, crushed into dust beneath their weight.
    The next morning, dark grey clouds were covering the sun once more and it looked as if we’d wait some time to see the second day of spring. The wind was getting up as well, tugging at our clothes as we gradually began to climb and hurling birds all over the sky, the clouds racing each other east to hide the summits of the fells.
    Our pace was slow and I was grateful for that because I’d developed a bad blister on each heel. So it was late in the day when we approached Chipenden, the light already beginning to fail.
    By then, although it was still very windy, the sky had cleared and the purple fells were sharp against the skyline. The Spook hadn’t talked much on the journey but now he sounded almost excited as he called out the names of the fells one by one. There were names such as Parlick Pike, which was the nearest to Chipenden; others - some visible, some hidden and distant - were called Mellor Knoll, Saddle Fell and Wolf Fell.
    When I asked my master if there were any wolves on Wolf Fell he smiled grimly. ‘Things change rapidly here, lad,’ he said, ‘and we must always be on our guard.’
    As the first rooftops of the village came into sight, the Spook pointed to a narrow path which led away from the road to twist upwards by the side of a small, gurgling stream.
    ‘My house is this way,’ he said. ‘It’s a slightly longer route but it means we can avoid going through the village. I like to keep my distance from the folk who live there. They prefer it that way too.’
    I remembered what Jack had said about the Spook and my heart sank. He’d been right. It was a lonely life. You ended up working by yourself.
    There were a few stunted trees on each bank, clinging to the hillside against the force of the wind, but then suddenly, directly ahead was a wood of sycamore and ash; as we entered, the wind died away to just a distant sigh. It was just a large collection of trees, a few hundred or so maybe, that offered shelter from the buffeting wind, but after a few moments I realized it was more than that.
    I’d noticed before, from time to time, how some trees are noisy, always creaking their branches or rustling their leaves, while others hardly make any sound at all. Far above, I could hear the distant breath of the wind, but within the wood the only sounds to be heard were our boots. Everything was very still, a whole wood full of trees that were so silent it made a