The driver of the cart was one of Nowell's servants, a man called Cobden, who nodded once to the priest and muttered "Father," but completely ignored me.The road was pitted and uneven and the ride gave us a good jolting so that I couldn't wait for it to end. We could have made better time on foot by traveling across country, I thought, rather than keeping to the roads and tracks. But nobody asked my opinion, so I just had to put up with it. And I'd other things to distract me from the discomfort of that cart.My anxiety regarding Jack, Ellie, and their child -was building. What if they'd been moved already? Then darker thoughts rose up, even though I tried my best to thrust them to the back of my mind. What if they'd been murdered and their bodies hidden where they'd never be found? A lump suddenly came into my throat. After all, what had they done wrong? They didn't deserve that-Mary was just a child. And then there'd be a fourth life lost -Elbe's unborn baby, the son that Jack had always wanted. It was all my fault. If I hadn't been apprenticed to the Spook, none of this would have happened. The Malkins and the Deanes said they wanted me dead: It had to be something to do with the work I was training for.Despite the presence of Magistrate Nowell and his constable, I wasn't very optimistic about our chances of getting into Malkin Tower. What if the Malkins just refused to open the door? After all, it was very thick and studded with iron -I wondered if that caused a problem for the witches, and then remembered that there were other clan members to open and close it. There was even a moat. It seemed to me that Nowell was relying upon their fear of the law and of the consequences of resisting.

But he didn't know that he was dealing with real witches, and I wasn't too confident in the power of a sword and a few cudgels to sort everything out.There was also the problem of Mistress Wurmalde for me to think about. My instincts screamed out at me that she was a witch. And yet she was the housekeeper of Magistrate Nowell, the foremost representative of the law in Pendle and a man who, despite all that had happened in this area of the County, was convinced that witches did not exist. Did that disbelief result from the fact that he was himself bewitched? Was she using glamour and fascination-the witch powers the Spook had described?What should I do about it? No point in telling Nowell, but I did need to tell Father Stocks and the Spook just as soon as I got the chance. I'd wanted to tell the priest before we set off for the tower, but I hadn't really had the chance.

While those thoughts were whirling through my head, we climbed upward through the village of Goldshaw Booth. The main street was deserted, but lace curtains twitched as we passed. I felt certain that word of our coming would already have been carried to Malkin Tower. They would be waiting for us.We entered Crow Wood, and I saw the tower when we were still some distance away. It rose above the trees, dark and impressive like something made to withstand the assault of an army. Set within a clearing, on a slight elevation of the ground, it was oval in shape, its girth at its widest point at least twice that of the Spook's Chipenden house. The tower was three times the height of the largest of the surrounding trees and there were battlements on top, a low castellated wall for armed men to shelter behind. That meant there had to be a way up onto the roof from inside. About halfway up the wall there were also narrow windows without glass, slits in the stone through which an archer could fire

.As we entered the clearing and moved closer, I could see that the drawbridge was raised and the moat was deep and wide. The cart came to a halt, so I clambered down, eager to stretch my legs. Father Stocks and the two bailiffs followed my lead. We were all staring toward the tower, but nothing was happening.After a minute Nowell gave a sigh of impatience, rode right up to the edge of the moat, and called out in a loud voice, "Open up in the name of the law!"For a moment there was silence but for the breathing of the horses.Then a female voice called down from one of the arrow slits. "Be patient while we lower the bridge. Be patient while we prepare the way."No sooner had she spoken than there was the grinding of a capstan and a clanking of chains; slowly the bridge began to descend. I could see the system clearly now. The chains were attached to the corners of the heavy wooden drawbridge and led through slits in the rock to a chamber within the tower. No doubt several people would now be employed turning the capstan to release the length of chain. Then, as the bridge jerked downward, I saw the formidable iron-studded door that had been hidden behind it. It was at least as strong as the thick stone walls. Surely nothing could break through those stout defenses.

At last the drawbridge was in position, and we waited expectantly for the huge door to be opened. I began to feel nervous. How many people were in the tower? There'd be witches and their supporters, while there were only seven of us. Once we were inside, they could simply close the door behind us and we'd be sealed off from the world, prisoners ourselves.But nothing happened, and there was no sound from within the tower. Nowell turned and gestured for Constable Barnes to join him by the moat, where he gave him some instructions. The constable immediately dismounted and began to cross the drawbridge. When he reached the door, he began to pound on the metal with his fist. At that sound, a flock of crows fluttered up from the trees behind the tower and began a raucous cawing.

There was no answer, so the constable banged again. Immediately I caught a glimpse of movement on the battlements above him. A figure in black seemed to lean forward. A second later, a dark liquid showered down onto the head of the unfortunate constable, and he jumped back with a curse. There was a cackle of laughter from above, followed by the sound of more laughing and jeers from within the tower.The constable returned to his horse, rubbing his eyes. His hair was saturated and his jerkin spattered with dark stains. He remounted, shaking his head, and both he and the magistrate rode back toward us; they were talking animatedly, but I couldn't make out "what they were saying. They came to a halt facing us, close enough for me to get a whiff of what had been poured over Constable Barnes: the contents of a chamber pot. The smell was really bad."I shall ride to Colne immediately, Father," Nowell said, his face florid with anger. "Those who defy the law and treat it with contempt deserve the full consequences. I know the commander of the army garrison there. I think this is a task for the military."He started to ride away eastward, then halted and called back over his shoulder.

"I'll stay at the barracks and be back just as soon as I can with the help we need. In the meantime, Father, tell Mistress Wurmalde that you're my guest for the night. You and the boy.''With that, the magistrate rode off at a canter while we climbed back up into the cart. I didn't look forward to a night spent at Read Hall. How could I sleep when a witch was in the house?My heart was also heavy at the thought of Jack and his family having to spend another night in the dungeons below the tower. I wasn't too optimistic that the arrival of soldiers from the barracks would solve things quickly. There was still the problem of the thick stone walls and the iron-studded door.Soon we were trundling our way back toward Read Hall.

The constable rode slightly ahead and nothing much was said but for a short exchange between the two men who shared the cart with us."Constable Barnes don't look happy," one said with the merest hint of a smile."If he keeps downwind, I will be!" replied his companion.On our way back down through Goldshaw Booth, there were more people on the main street. Some seemed to be going about their business while others lounged on corners. A few were standing in open doorways, gazing out expectantly as if waiting for us to pass through. There were a few catcalls and jeers and a rotten apple was hurled at us from behind, just missing the constable's head. He turned his horse angrily and unfurled his whip, but it was impossible to identify the culprit. To more jeers, we continued down the main street, and I was relieved when we were in open countryside again.As we reached the gates of Read Hall, Constable Barnes spoke for the first time since we'd begun our journey back. "Well, Father, we'll leave you now. We'll meet here at the gates an hour after dawn, and back to the tower we go!"Father Stocks and I clambered down, opened the gates, and after closing them behind us, began to -walk up the carriageway between the lawns, while the constable rode away and Cobden continued in the same direction, presumably taking the two bailiffs home before returning to Read Hall. This was my chance to tell the priest about Nowell's housekeeper."Father, I've something to tell you about Mistress Wurmalde -"Oh, don't let her bother you, Tom. Her snobbery just comes from an inflated sense of pride. The fact that she looked down her nose at you is her problem, not yours. But at heart she's a good woman. None of us is perfect."