“But she was dealing with something completely unknown to her. It was foolish to take such risks. Surely you can see that. . . .”

I nodded. “Yes, with hindsight I can see it. No doubt that’s why she said she’d finished her experiments. But you have to see what happened through her eyes—”

“The eyes of a witch! The eyes of a fool! You can see the fanatical gleam in her eyes.”

“I wouldn’t say that to her face,” I warned. “Look, she was proved wrong to take such risks, and now she certainly knows it. But she took them because she believes she must grasp every opportunity to learn about an enemy with whom we may one day be at war. At least we now know what we’re up against.”

“She was certainly wrong to take such risks!” Jenny said vehemently, her voice raised in anger. “She could have gotten a lot of innocent people killed. We could have died attempting to sort out the mess she’d made. That witch is dangerous to be around. Life is cheap to her!”

I sighed but didn’t defend Grimalkin any further, and eventually Jenny calmed down. I could see her point, but reckless or not, the witch assassin had demonstrated something more important—the enormity of the threat we faced.

21

Grimalkin’s Notes

HOWEVER great that threat, it was now back to routine spook’s business.

As I began Jenny’s practical lesson the next afternoon, I got out the measuring rod and checked the dimensions of the boggart pit she had dug previously.

“Well done! It’s perfect,” I told her. “If you were doing this for real, by now the stonemason and the riggers would have gotten to work.” I had managed to calm Jenny’s anger, and she beamed at me. “The stone lid would be in position over the pit, leaving you just three things to do. What are they?”

Jenny remembered what I’d told her earlier. “First I line the pit with salt and iron to stop the boggart from escaping. Second, I use a bait dish to lure it in. Third, I wait for nightfall, when the boggart will sniff the blood and go down into the pit, but I must have the riggers standing by to lower the lid.”

“Well done again!” I said, keen to give her praise when she remembered my lessons. “Now for this afternoon’s practical. Your job is to line the pit.”

I tugged the lid off the big bucket we’d carried with us into the southern garden. Instantly the strong smell of the glue made Jenny frown and hold her nose. It was boiled up out of the bones of dead animals, and it stank to high heaven.

There were also two sacks on the grass: one contained iron filings, the other salt.

“Use half a bag of each,” I instructed.

I was pleased with the way the practical lesson was going. John Gregory had taught me well, and I realized that I had a lot of information to pass on to my new apprentice.