Nobody had died. Apart from the two dead animals and the broken fence, little harm had been done. The vartek was dead. Topley had gotten off lightly.

We headed back toward Chipenden, saying little. Jenny was unusually silent. I could tell that she was angry—her jaw was firmly set—but I didn’t question her. There’d be time for that later.

I’d hoped to get away without being questioned, but that wasn’t to be. Soon we were being followed by a crowd of agitated villagers, about a dozen of them. At one point Grimalkin turned and glared at them. They paused for a moment, but when we set off again, they continued to keep pace with us.

As we left the last of the cottages behind us, Grimalkin suddenly turned to face them again. This time they came closer and halted less than twenty strides away. They were muttering angrily; some of them were brandishing sticks. They would have no chance against Grimalkin and would flee at the first serious threat from her blades, but I didn’t want any of them to get hurt.

“What do you want?” I demanded, coming to stand at Grimalkin’s side.

“What are you doing with a witch, boy?” asked their leader, a big brawny man with a shaved head and an angry, jutting chin.

I searched desperately from face to face, hoping to see someone I knew from my childhood visits to Topley with my dad, someone I could appeal to. But these were strangers, people from outlying farms to the south.

“She has helped me to save your village!” I retorted.

“Save it from what—her own dark magic? She conjured a hell beast, and you did nothing.”

“I’m Tom Ward, the Chipenden Spook. She fought by my side to save you from a monster that would have devoured you all. If you don’t believe me, go back to the green. There you’ll find the body of the creature we killed to save you.”

“You’re lying, boy. All three of you are coming back with us. We’ll send to Priestown for the quisitor—he’s due to visit there this month. Then we’ll have ourselves a burning. At the end of it there’ll be three cinders . . . a witch and her two accomplices.”

Quisitors hunted and burned witches; they had no liking for spooks, either. The man’s threat was real: if they managed to capture us, the future was bleak. But I couldn’t let Grimalkin kill these angry and frightened people. Once they returned to the village, they’d soon realize the truth of what I’d said. But their leader was a hothead and would have to be dealt with.

“Go back and see what we killed,” I said softly. “Then think again. What was done was for your own good. Now let us be on our way.”

Their leader took a couple more paces toward us. “You first, boy. Surrender your weapons, and it’ll go easier with you. Come with us peacefully, and you’ll get a fair trial,” he said, stepping closer to me.