“This cannot be!” the beast rasped, falling to its knees as I withdrew the blade. It looked up at me, eyes filled with pain and surprise. It tried to speak again, but when it opened its mouth, blood gushed out, soaking the front of its black coat. Then it slowly pitched forward onto its face, gave a shudder, and was still.

I shuddered too, at what I had to do next, but I had no choice. Who knew what regenerative powers such a being might have? I swung the sword down with all my strength and cut the beast’s head from its body.

I rushed over to Jenny, lowering her gently to the floor. I feared that she was dead. She did not appear to be breathing, and I could find no sign of a heartbeat.

In desperation I carried her through the trees to the nearest stream and laid her down on the grass beside it. Then I removed my cloak, tugged off my shirt over my head, and wet it in the cold water. I used it to clean her face and wipe the blood from the bite marks on her shoulders, whispering her name as I did so.

“Jenny, Jenny, Jenny . . . it’s all right. You’re safe now. Open your eyes. Please open your eyes.”

8

John Gregory’s Apprentices

I repeated Jenny’s name for some minutes, willing her to wake up—until I remembered something Dad had once told me: an old laborer who’d once worked on the farm had what Dad called “funny turns.” The man would become breathless and say that his heart was “all a-flutter.” But Dad had a remedy for it. He would plunge the old man’s head into a barrel of ice-cold water, and that would sort him out immediately. The funny turn would be over, and he’d be as spry and fit as before.

Dad reckoned it was the shock of the water that did it.

No doubt if you weren’t already dead, such a shock could as easily kill as cure. But I was desperate, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

So I rolled Jenny into the freezing water of the fast-flowing stream so that she ended up on her back. Then I knelt beside her. Her head I supported with both hands, but her whole body was immersed.

Suddenly she gave a gasp, opened her eyes wide, and stared up at me.

“Take deep breaths,” I told her. “Concentrate on your breathing.”

She tried to say something, but this started a choking fit. When it subsided, I continued to support her head with my right hand while using my cupped left hand to dribble water into her mouth. After I’d done this six or seven times, Jenny spoke again, this time managing to utter two words.

“The beast . . . ?” Her eyes widened again, and she started shivering.

“The beast is dead,” I reassured her. “Concentrate on getting well.”

“I’m cold,” she said. “So cold . . .”