‘No!’ Alice cried.

‘I won’t do it!’ I protested.

‘Shut your face, girl! Silence! You can both be quiet!’

And then Lizzie said a word under her breath, something guttural in the Old Tongue. My throat tightened, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I managed to draw in a breath, although I still couldn’t speak. I’d always had some degree of resistance to the dark – being a seventh son of a seventh son had given me that – but I seemed helpless in the face of Lizzie’s dark power. I tried to stand but my limbs didn’t respond. It was as if I were made of stone. I saw Alice start towards me, but then she too was gripped by some dark spell.

‘In return, you pull all your men away from the area around here,’ she continued, turning her attention back to the shaman’s spirit. ‘Call them back into the keep. Once the boy starts to fight, I’ll leave this tree, but only when I’m safely off this island will the buggane do your bidding again. Are we agreed?’

The apparition glared at the witch for quite a while without speaking, then gave just the slightest of nods.

Lizzie smiled. ‘Knew you’d see the sense of it. Rare thing, that. Not many sensible men about. Now send two more sensible men through the tunnels for the boy – that’s if you can find any. If they ain’t sensible, they’ll be dead! So no funny business…’

It was a matter of minutes before I heard the shaman’s men crawling through the tunnel towards the hollow tree. I was still holding hands with Alice, my left hand in her left hand, gasping for breath.

Lizzie lit her candle again and held it up as the first of the men emerged. He looked scared and stood, uncertain what to do. But the witch instantly took command.

‘That’s the boy you’ve come for!’ she cried, pointing at me.

They dragged me towards the dark entrance of the tunnel. My paralysis was passing, giving way to painful pins and needles, but I was still weak and unable to resist.

‘Don’t forget his staff!’ cried Lizzie. ‘Be needing that, he will! It’s dead dogs or a dead boy. One or the other, that’s for sure!’

They pulled and pushed me back along the claustrophobic system of earthen tunnels, until I heard the sound of barking in the distance and we finally emerged in the long room with the cages. I felt depressed and angry. After all I’d gone through defeating Lizzie and finally escaping, I’d been returned to the same point.

There were plenty of yeomen armed with spears and clubs, but only a few gamblers now sat on the straw bales. Lord Barrule was waiting in the middle of the room, standing on the blood-splattered sawdust with folded arms.

‘If I weren’t a betting man, I’d take your life now, boy, and do it very slowly,’ he said. ‘But for a good fight you need some incentive so I’ll still let you go if you win. This time, of course, you won’t be able to take your dogs with you – you’ll already have killed them. What do you say?’

I hung my head, appalled at what I was being asked to do.

‘Suit yourself – but I think you’ll fight anyway in self-preservation. Who wouldn’t? Anyway, you’ll have time to think. I’m waiting for a few more people to arrive. Can’t pass up the chance to take their money – and it’s the taking rather than the money that’s important to me. And who do you think my money’s on this time?’

Again I didn’t reply. Their gambling fun would go on, and here on this spot there would be more deaths to add to all the ones they’d already witnessed. For how many years had the shaman and his cronies carried on in this way? I wondered.

‘Most of the money will be on you because they saw how you defeated the witch. But I disagree. I’ve changed my mind because you’re too soft – I can see that now. If you couldn’t kill the witch, then you certainly won’t be able to kill your own dogs. They’ll rip out your throat. So I’m betting on the dogs, boy!’

The shaman walked away, and the two men dragged me to one side and forced me to squat down on the floor while we waited for the proceedings to begin. It took over an hour as, one by one, other gamblers entered the room and placed their bets. Who were these people – upright members of the local community who had this secret vice? Not all those present looked equally happy. No doubt most were afraid of Barrule and had little option but to join him here; others seemed as enthusiastic as he was, their faces eager.

Some of the latter walked over to assess the dogs; a couple even came to look at me.

‘Make him stand,’ one said. ‘Not injured, is he?’

‘Up you come, lad!’ commanded the yeoman. When I hesitated, he bunched his fist in my hair and dragged me to my feet.

‘Will he be armed like last time?’ another asked.

‘That he will, staff and all! But that silver chain won’t be much use against the dogs!’ The guard laughed, then pushed me to my knees again. ‘Get all the rest you can,’ he advised mockingly. ‘You’re going to need it. Those teeth will be taking pieces of you soon – starting with the tender bits!’

The caged dogs were barking and whining, and I glanced over to where Arkwright’s three were confined. What was I going to do? How could I kill them? The mother, Claw, had saved my life in the past and, but for the dark power of the shaman, would be on my side rather than his, as would her pups. I had no illusions about what would happen if I did win. The shaman would not keep his word. He’d either kill me or devise some other gambling entertainment in which I would play a central and painful role.

I also found it hard to believe that he’d grant Bony Lizzie free passage from the island. He might pull back his men while she went through the bone-yard and west towards the coast. But he’d hunt her down long before she reached the sea. Whatever her fate, poor Alice would share it too. If the Fiend didn’t find her first.

What of the Spook? Where was he? I wondered. I hoped for his sake that he wouldn’t attempt to rescue me. What chance did he have? And if he fell into Lizzie’s hands, he would die the slowest and most terrible death imaginable.

I’d been in many dangerous situations before, but this was one of the worst: I was caught between two powerful dark adversaries, a witch and a shaman, and could see no way to triumph over either of them.

My gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a clank of metal. The sporadic barking gave way to the odd whimper. Claw, Blood and Bone were being released and dragged by their collars towards the centre of the sawdust arena.

‘On your feet, boy!’ snapped one of my guards, tugging me up by my hair again.

As a hushed expectancy descended on the room, I was pushed forward to face the three dogs. I gazed down at them in sorrow. Their coats were matted with dirt and they clearly hadn’t been fed in days. Not one of them could meet my eye. They looked abject and defeated before we started – though I knew that was the shaman’s doing. In a moment he would ready them to fight.

I noticed that this time there was no circle of spearmen. It was the witch that had worried them last time. The dogs would fight me to the death, and anyway, where could I possibly run to?

Barrule was seated on his wooden throne again, and I watched in dismay as he got to his feet and clapped his hands three times. Instantly the dogs were transformed: they locked eyes with me and began to growl, their jaws opening, ready to bite and tear. Their nervous handlers released their collars and the three wolfhounds instantly leaped towards me like furies.

I whirled away as they attacked, swinging my staff to keep them at bay. I kept my blade retracted; there was no way I intended to employ it here. Blood and Bone came straight for me, and for the first time I used my staff to fend them off. I jabbed Blood in the neck and cracked Bone across the head, trying not to put too much force into either blow. But in that moment of distraction, Claw leaped at me from behind. The weight of her knocked me to my knees and I almost let go of my staff. That brought a groan from some sections of the crowd.