A hush fell over the room. I could see that Father Stocks and the Spook were thinking about what had been said. Scrying was the term witches used for prophecy. The Spook didn't believe in it, but I could tell that he was disturbed by the way Tibb had found out about Mam's trunks. The more I'd heard, the worse the situation seemed. From the first time the Spook had warned me that we'd be traveling to Pendle to deal with the witches, I'd had serious misgivings. How could he possibly hope to deal with so many? And what were we going to do now that Jack and his family were prisoners in the dungeons under Malkin Tower?"Why did they take them?" I asked. "They'd gotten the trunks. Why didn't they just leave them behind?"Sometimes 'witches do things just for badness," Alice answered. "Might easily have killed them before leaving the farm. Capable of that, they are. But most likely they took 'em alive because they're your family. Need the keys, they do, and hostages are a way to put pressure on you."

"We know where Jack, Ellie, and Mary are now," I said, my anger and impatience growing. "What are we going to do about getting them free? How are we going to do it?"I think there's only one thing we can do, lad," said the Spook. "Get help. My plan was to spend the summer and the autumn harrying our enemies; trying to divide the clans. Now we've got to act quickly. Father Stocks has suggested something that I'm not entirely happy with, but he's convinced me that it's the only way we'll have any chance at all of saving your family."There's an element of risk involved, I'll grant you that. But what other choice do we have?" asked Father Stocks. "There are some rough elements living in those three villages, who either willingly or through fear of the covens lend them their support. Then there are the clan menfolk, of course. And even if we could somehow fight our way past them, Malkin Tower is formidable indeed. It's built of good County stone and has a moat, a drawbridge, and a stout wooden door studded with iron beyond that. In effect it's a small castle.

"So, young Tom, this is what I propose. Tomorrow you and I will walk over to the big house at Read and speak to the local magistrate there. As next of kin to those who were abducted, you'll have to make a formal complaint. The magistrate's name is Roger Nowell and until about five years ago he was high sheriff at Caster. He's an esquire, one rank below a knight, and also a good, honest man. We'll see if we can persuade him to take action."Aye," said the Spook, "and during his period of office at Caster, not one single witch was brought to trial. As we well know, those charged are usually falsely accused anyway, but it does tell us a lot about him. You see, he doesn't believe in witchcraft. He's a rationalist. A man of common sense. For him witches simply don't exist -"How can he think like that when he lives in Pendle, of all places?" I asked."Some people have closed minds," my master answered. "And it's in the interests of the Pendle clans to keep his mind closed. So he's allowed to see and hear nothing that could make him the least bit suspicious."

"But, of course, we won't be bringing any charges of witchcraft," Father Stocks said, pulling a piece of paper from his cassock and holding it up. "Robbery and kidnapping are what Master Nowell will understand. Here I have accounts by two witnesses who saw your brother and his family being taken through Goldshaw Booth on the way to Malkin Tower. I wrote out their testimony yesterday and they made their mark. You see, not everyone in that Devil's Triangle is in league with witches or afraid for their own skin. But I've promised them that they'll remain anonymous. Otherwise their lives wouldn't be worth a wisp of straw. But it'll be enough to get Nowell to act."I wasn't that happy with what was being proposed. The Spook had also expressed reservations. But something had to be done, and I couldn't think of an alternative plan.Father Stocks's cottage had four upstairs rooms, so there was accommodation for three guests. We had a few hours' sleep and were up at dawn. Then, after a breakfast of cold mutton, the Spook and Alice stayed behind while I accompanied the priest south. This time we took the westerly route, traveling with Pendle Hill to our left."Read is south of Sabden, Tom," the priest explained, "but even if we were heading for Bareleigh, this would be the way I'd go. It's safer. You were lucky to get through that dell in one piece last night."I was traveling -without my cloak and staff so as not to draw attention to myself. Not only was it witch country, but Master Nowell didn't believe in -witchcraft, so he probably wouldn't have much time for spooks or their apprentices. Nor did I take any weapons that could be used against the dark. I trusted Father Stocks to get us safely to Read and back before sunset. And, as he'd explained, -we'd be traveling on the safer side of the hill.After about an hour we halted and slaked our thirst with the cold waters of a stream. When -we'd drunk our fill Father Stocks pulled off his boots and socks, sat down on the bank, and dangled his bare feet in the fast-flowing water.

"That feels good," he said with a smile.I nodded and smiled back. I sat near the bank, but I didn't bother to take off my own boots. It was a pleasant morning; the sun was starting to take the chill from the air and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We were in a picturesque spot, and the nearby trees didn't obscure our view of Pendle Hill. Today it looked different, somehow friendlier, and its green slopes were dotted with white spots, some of them moving."Lots of sheep up there," I said, nodding toward the hill. Closer by, beyond the stream, the field was also full of sheep and bleating, almost fully grown lambs, soon to be separated from their mothers. It seemed cruel, but farming was a livelihood and they'd end up at the butcher's.

"Aye," said the priest. "This is sheep country without a doubt. That's the wealth of Pendle up there. We produce the best mutton in the County, and some make a very good living. Mind you, there's real poverty to balance it. A lot gain their bread by begging. One of the things about being a priest that gives me real satisfaction is trying to alleviate that need. In effect I become a beggar myself. I beg parishioners to put money in the collection plate. I beg for clothes and food. Then I give it to the poor. It's very worth while."More worthwhile than being a spook, Father?" I asked.Father Stocks smiled. "For me, Tom, the answer must be yes. But everyone must follow their own path…"What made you finally decide that it was better to be a priest than a spook?" I asked.Father Stocks looked at me hard for a moment, then frowned. It seemed that he wasn't going to answer, and I feared that my bluntness had offended him. When he finally spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully."Perhaps it was the moment when I finally realized just how dark things were getting. I saw how hard John Gregory worked, dealing with this threat here and that danger there. Constantly risking his life, yet never managing to solve the real problem-that of the evil at the very heart of the world, which is far too big for us to cope with alone. We poor humans need the help of a higher power. We need the help of God."So you absolutely believe in God?" I asked. "You've no doubts?"Oh, yes, Tom. I believe in God and I have no doubts at all. And I also believe in the power of prayer. What's more, my vocation gives me the opportunity to help others. That's why I've become a priest."I nodded and smiled. It was a good enough answer from a good man. I hadn't known Father Stocks long, but already I liked him and could understand why the Spook had called him a friend.We walked on until, at last, we reached a gate; beyond it were wide, verdant lawns where red deer grazed. They were planted with copses of trees, seemingly positioned to please the eye."Here we are," said Father Stocks. "This is Read Park."