‘Why would anyone want to give it their blood?’ I asked, astonished at the very idea.

‘Because it can get inside people’s minds. It tempts them with money, position and power – you name it. If it can’t get what it wants by persuasion, it terrorizes its victims. Sometimes it lures them down to the catacombs and threatens them with what we call “the press”.’

‘The press?’ I asked.

‘Aye, lad. It can make itself so heavy that some of its victims are found squashed flat, their bones broken and their bodies smeared into the ground – you have to scrape them up for burial. They’ve been “pressed” and it’s not a pleasant sight. The Bane cannot rip our blood against our will, but remember we’re still vulnerable to the press.’

‘I don’t understand how it can make people do these things when it’s trapped in the catacombs,’ I said.

‘It can read thoughts, shape dreams, weaken and corrupt the minds of those above ground. Sometimes it even sees through their eyes. Its influence extends up into the cathedral and presbytery, and it terrorizes the priests. It’s been working its mischief that way through Priestown for years.’

‘With the priests?’

‘Yes – especially those who are weak-minded. Whenever it can it gets them to spread its evil. My brother Andrew works as a locksmith in Priestown, and more than once he’s sent warnings to me about what’s happening. The Bane drains the spirit and the will. It makes people do what it wants, silencing the voices of goodness and reason: they become greedy and cruel, abuse their power, robbing the poor and sick. In Priestown tithes are now collected twice a year.’

I knew what a tithe was. A tenth of our farm’s income for the year and we had to pay it as a tax to the local church. It was the law.

‘Paying it once is bad enough,’ the Spook continued, ‘but twice and it’s hard to keep the wolf from the door. Once again, it’s beating the people down into fear and poverty, just as it did to the Segantii. It’s one of the purest and most evil manifestations of the dark I’ve ever met. But the situation can’t go on much longer. I’ve got to put a stop to it once and for all before it’s too late.’

‘How will we do that?’ I asked.

‘Well, I’m not sure I rightly know just yet. The Bane is a dangerous and clever foe; it may be able to read our minds and know just what we’re thinking before we realize it ourselves.

‘But apart from silver, it does have one other serious weakness. Women make it very nervous and it tries to avoid their company. It can’t abide being near them. Well, I can understand that easily enough, but how to use it to our advantage needs some thinking about.’

The Spook had often warned me to beware of girls, and for some reason, particularly those who wore pointy shoes. So I was used to him saying things like that. But now I knew about him and Meg I wondered if she’d played some part in making him talk the way he did.

Well, my master had certainly given me a lot to think about. And I couldn’t help wondering about all those churches in Priestown, and the priests and congregations, all believing in God. Could they all be wrong? If their God was so powerful why didn’t He do something about the Bane? Why did He allow it to corrupt the priests and spread evil out into the town?

My dad was a believer, even though he never went to church. None of our family did because farming didn’t stop on Sunday and we were always too busy milking or doing other chores. But it suddenly made me wonder what the Spook believed, especially knowing what Mam had told me – that the Spook had once been a priest himself.

‘Do you believe in God?’ I asked him.

‘I used to believe in God,’ the Spook replied, his expression very thoughtful. ‘When I was a child I never doubted the existence of God for a single moment, but eventually I changed. You see, lad, when you’ve lived as long as I have, there are things that make you wonder. So now I’m not so sure but I still keep an open mind.

‘But I’ll tell you this,’ he went on. ‘Two or three times in my life I’ve been in situations so bad that I never expected to walk away from them. I’ve faced the dark and almost, but not quite, resigned myself to death. Then, just when all’s seemed lost, I’ve been filled with new strength. Where it came from I can only guess. But with that strength came a new feeling. That someone or something was at my side. That I was no longer alone.’

The Spook paused and sighed deeply. ‘I don’t believe in the God they preach about in church,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in an old man with a white beard. But there’s something watching what we do, and if you live your life right, in your hour of need it’ll stand at your side and lend you its strength. That’s what I believe. Well, come on, lad. We’ve dawdled here long enough and had best be on our way.’

I picked up his bag and followed him. Soon we left the road and took a short cut through a wood and across a wide meadow. It was pleasant enough but we stopped long before the sun set. The Spook was too exhausted to continue and should really have been back at Chipenden, recuperating after his illness.

I had a bad feeling about what lay ahead, a strong sense of danger.

Priestown Priestown, built on the banks of the river Ribble, was the biggest town I’d ever visited. As we came down the hill, the river was like a huge snake gleaming orange in the light from the setting sun.

It was a town of churches, with spires and towers rising above the rows of small terraced houses. Set right on the summit of a hill, near the centre of the town, was the cathedral. Three of the largest churches I’d seen in my whole life would have easily fitted inside it. And its steeple was something else. Built from limestone, it was almost white and so high that I guessed on a rainy day the cross at its top would be hidden by clouds.

‘Is that the biggest steeple in the world?’ I asked, pointing in excitement.

‘No, lad,’ the Spook answered with a rare grin. ‘But it’s the biggest steeple in the County, as well it might be with a town that boasts so many priests. I only wish there were fewer of them but we’ll just have to take our chance.’

Suddenly the grin faded from his face. ‘Talk of the Devil!’ he said, clenching his teeth before pulling me through a gap in the hedge into the adjoining field. There he placed his forefinger against his lips for silence and made me crouch down with him, while I listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

It was a good, thick hawthorn hedge and it still had most of its leaves, but through it I could just make out a black cassock above the boots. It was a priest!

We stayed there for quite a while even after the footsteps had faded into the distance. Only then did the Spook lead us back onto the path. I couldn’t work out what all the fuss was about. On our travels we’d passed lots of priests. They hadn’t been too friendly but we’d never tried to hide before.

We need to be on our guard, lad,’ the Spook explained. ‘Priests are always trouble but they represent a real danger in this town. You see, Priestown’s bishop is the uncle of the High Quisitor. No doubt you’ll have heard of him.’ I nodded. ‘He hunts witches, doesn’t he?’ ‘Aye, lad, he does that. When he catches someone he considers to be a witch or warlock, he puts on his black cap and becomes the judge at their trial – a trial that’s usually over very quickly. The following day he puts on a different hat. He becomes the executioner, and organizes the burning. He’s a reputation for being good at that and a big crowd usually gathers to watch. They say he positions the stake carefully so that the poor wretch takes a very long time to die. The pain is supposed to make a witch sorry for what she’s done, so she’ll beg God’s forgiveness and, as she dies, her soul will be saved. But thafs just an excuse. The Quisitor lacks the knowledge a spook has and wouldn’t know a real witch if she reached up from her grave and grabbed his ankle! No, he’s just a cruel man who likes to inflict pain. He enjoys his work and he’s grown rich from the money he makes selling the homes and property of those he condemns.