So I went outside and strode toward the western garden. It was a good place to think. The weather had turned, and I was surprised to find a thin coating of hoarfrost on the grass. The air was unusually cold for late August, much colder than I’d expected. Even in the County, which was known for its long winters, we didn’t usually get the first frosts until late September or early October. It could well be that winter would come early this year, more severe than ever.

I sat down on the bench and gazed toward the fells, listening to the birdsong and the hum of insects. This was where my master used to teach me. I would sit taking notes while he paced back and forth.

His grave lay near the bench, the mound of earth now covered with grass. I read the words on the gravestone. I’d chosen them myself.

HERE LIETH

JOHN GREGORY OF CHIPENDEN,

THE GREATEST OF THE COUNTY SPOOKS

The Spook had served the County well. He’d been a good master, and as I thought about him, tears came to my eyes.

I reflected on the years of training he had given me, and all his warnings against the dark; his instructions on how to deal with it. We’d faced many foes, but malevolent witches had been some of our most dangerous enemies. We had fought them, and captured them, and bound them in pits within his garden.

But a change had come. We weren’t strong enough by ourselves, so we had been forced to compromise in order to have any hope of finally defeating the Fiend. So, even though it had made my master uncomfortable, we had formed an alliance with Grimalkin, the witch assassin of the Malkin clan.

I remembered how Grimalkin had helped us, on so many occasions. She had forged a sword especially for me, and I had carried it during our final struggles to destroy the Fiend—a sword that, while I wore or held it, would protect me from dark magic. Grimalkin had named it the Starblade because she had crafted it from the ore of a meteorite.

I had carried the sword into battle gratefully, but afterward, sickened by all the killing and the death of John Gregory, I had told her that I would never use it again—that I would become the Spook my master had trained me to be and use only the weapons of my trade.

Suddenly I was roused from my thoughts by the ringing of the bell down at the withy trees. I went back to the house, pulled on my cloak, grabbed my staff from where I’d left it leaning against the wall by the back door, and set off at a brisk pace to answer the summons.

As I moved out of the morning sunlight and into the gloom of the willow trees that shrouded the crossroads, the bell stopped ringing. That sometimes happened. People lost patience and returned home. Or sometimes they were nervous about meeting a spook, persuading themselves that there would be no response and escaping while they could.