But she smiled and shook her head. “You’re tired too,” she said. “I can manage, but thanks all the same.”

Then she spotted the words carved into the wall at the foot of the bed—the list of names.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“They were John Gregory’s apprentices. My name’s on that wall somewhere.”

I turned to go but had one more thing to say to her.

“You can write your own name there at the end of the month. . . . That’s if you pass the test and seem capable of doing the job.”

9

A Nettle Patch

I’D been reluctant to move into my late master’s bedroom; it seemed somehow disrespectful. However, now that Jenny was in my old room, I judged that it was time to start using it. To my surprise, I slept well, but I was up before dawn. I went to the library, placing a small mirror on the table where I usually worked.

I tapped three times upon the mirror and uttered a single word:

“Grimalkin!”

At first the witch assassin didn’t respond, and I suddenly wondered if she’d ignore my attempts to contact her.

Almost ten months earlier, soon after the death of my master, we’d parted on reasonably good terms. But I knew that I’d disappointed her. I’d refused to travel north with her to find out about the Kobalos, settling for the life of a spook and choosing my master’s weapons—staff, chain, and salt and iron—rather than the blade she’d given me. I’d not seen her since, and a lot could have happened by now. She might even be overseas and out of reach.

I was about to give up when at last the mirror started to glow and Grimalkin’s face appeared before me. She smiled, showing her teeth, which she kept filed to points and sometimes used as a weapon.

“There is something here that I would like you to see.” I spoke slowly, mouthing the words carefully at the mirror. She could not hear me but would read my lips. Over time I too had become skilled at this.

Grimalkin shook her head. “I cannot come to Chipenden. I am busy with other things,” she replied.

“I think you might want to change your mind,” I persisted. “A strange creature has been murdering local women. I’ve killed it, but I think it’s one of the Kobalos—probably one of their mages. It walked upright and had a hairy body but a shaved face. It wore a long coat too, just as it was described in the Spook’s Bestiary. You really do need to see it.”

For a moment or two the witch’s face stared at me out of the mirror without blinking. Then she nodded.

“The fact that it has come so far south into the County is very worrying. I will be there within three days,” she mouthed.

Then the mirror grew dark.

I wondered where she was. If she was traveling on horseback, three days was quite some distance away. But it could have been worse. The Kobalos lands lay across the Northern Sea, and many weeks’ ride beyond its shores.