This must be the throne room where the shaman, Lord Barrule, had held court and meted out his rough justice. It was impressive – fit for a king, never mind a lord. From the doorway, Lizzie gazed at that throne for a long time, then went over to the only window. It had a recessed seat, and she sat and looked out for a while without speaking. Alice and I came up behind her and followed her gaze downwards.

Far below, people were still fleeing the keep. The outer portcullis was raised, and beyond the bridge over the moat, groups of yeomen were staring up at the tower. With them was Stanton, their commander, sword at his hip: there was no hope of escaping that way.

Lizzie turned away from the window with a faint smile on her face, then slowly walked the length of the carpet, heading for that green throne. With each step the heels of her pointy shoes made deep indentations in the crimson carpet and their soles soiled it with mud from the tunnels.

Then, very deliberately, she sat herself down on the throne and beckoned us forward. Alice and I moved closer, until we were standing at the foot of the steps.

‘I could rule this island,’ Lizzie said. ‘I could be its queen!’

‘A queen? You? You’re no queen,’ Alice sneered.

‘Look like you been dragged through a hedge backwards and rolled in a midden!’

It was true. The witch’s clothes were splattered with mud; her hair was caked with it. She scowled and stood up, anger flickering in her eyes. Alice took a step backwards, but then Lizzie smiled. ‘We’ll see, girl. We’ll soon see about that.’ She pointed to a door behind the throne. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here…’

We followed her through the door and discovered that we weren’t at the highest point in the tower after all. There was yet another flight of steep steps, which led up to a circular antechamber with eight doors. We entered the rooms in turn, moving anticlockwise. Like the throne room, each had a large curtained window with a seat recessed into the outer wall. The first had a tiled floor and a large wooden bath. Lizzie gazed at the bath and smiled. The next five were luxurious bedrooms, hung with ornate mirrors and rich tapestries.

The seventh was the shaman’s study: three rows of shelves held his books – mostly grimoires – and on a large wooden table a big notebook lay open next to a human skull. Other shelves contained bottles and jars of potions. In the corner was a large chest, but when Lizzie tried it, she found it was locked.

‘I could get it open myself, but that’ll take time and be a waste of power. Why bark yourself when you’ve got a dog to do it for you? Come on, boy, get out that key of yours and open this up.’

How did Lizzie know about my key? I wondered. What else did she know? Could she read all my thoughts?

But the chest had belonged to the shaman – it might well contain things that would increase the witch’s power – so I shook my head.

‘Refusing, are you? I’ll show you what happens to those who disobey me…’

Lizzie’s face darkened and she started to mutter a spell; in an instant the room grew cold, and fear constricted my throat. And there seemed to be things moving in the darkest corners – threatening, shadowy forms. I gripped my staff tightly, my eyes darting this way and that. When I looked directly at the creatures, they disappeared; when I looked away, they grew and moved closer.

‘Do what she wants, Tom. Please,’ Alice begged.

So I nodded and pulled the key from my pocket.

I’d have to make a stand against Lizzie soon, but I’d do it when she was least expecting it. I just hoped that whatever was in the chest would be of no use to a bone witch.

The special key, crafted by the Spook’s brother Andrew, a master locksmith, didn’t let me down this time. I lifted the lid and saw that the chest contained money: bags of both gold and silver coins.

I thought Lizzie would be disappointed, but she only smiled again. ‘Useful thing, money,’ she said. ‘Put it to good use, I can. Lock it up again, boy. We don’t want anyone else to get their thieving hands on it.’ She looked around the room, her eyes settling on the bottles and jars, then finally on the open notebook. ‘I’ll be having a good root around in here before long,’ she muttered. ‘See what he’s been up to. Who knows – I might learn something new.’

How long did Bony Lizzie intend to stay? I wondered. Was she serious about ruling the island? If so, how did she plan to do so with her enemies gathered beyond the keep? They’d been badly frightened, but that wouldn’t last for ever. Soon they’d come back in force. They’d captured her before; if enough of them could summon up the courage, they could do it again. Then Alice and I would suffer as her accomplices.

The eighth door led to a large dressing room containing clothes – rich, elaborate gowns, suitable attire for a royal court. They must have belonged to Barrule’s wife.

‘They look just my size,’ Lizzie smirked. ‘Know what you two are going to do next?’

We didn’t answer.

‘Fill my bath!’ she cried. ‘Heat the water in the kitchen and bring it up. Half an hour and I want it done!’

‘Washing behind your ears ain’t going to turn you into a queen!’ Alice snapped.

Lizzie hissed furiously and Alice gave a cry of fear and backed away. I gripped her hand and quickly led her back into the antechamber, then down the steps to the throne room.

‘What we going to do, Tom?’ she asked.

‘Escape and find the Spook,’ I told her, ‘though I don’t know how yet. We can’t go that way…’ I pointed at the window. Down below, the courtyard was empty. There seemed to be nobody at all within the walls of Greeba Keep, but there were still plenty of men beyond the open gate. They’d lit fires and were standing or sitting around them.

‘I wouldn’t like to risk the tunnels,’ Alice said. ‘I know what Lizzie’s capable of. The buggane’s as good as hers already. She’d send it after us for sure.’

‘Then there’s only one thing we can do for now,’ I told her. ‘Get Lizzie’s bath ready…’

Alice nodded. ‘At least it’ll make her smell better!’ she retorted.

So we went down to the kitchen and, after helping ourselves to some cold chicken, prepared Lizzie’s hot water. The cooking fires were still burning and there were barrels of water there. Soon we had water heating in three big cauldrons. That was the easy part; getting it up the stairs and into Lizzie’s bath was back-breaking work.

Down in the throne room again, we sat in the window seat and looked out. Beyond the moat nothing had changed, but spits had been set up above each fire; the yeomen camped around them were preparing to eat. There seemed to be no immediate danger from them.

‘Alice, why is Lizzie suddenly so strong?’ I wondered. ‘She stopped me from using my chain against her earlier – I couldn’t even get my hand into my pocket. She seems so confident. Look at the way she’s allowed us to roam free while she bathes – as if she has nothing to fear from us – and she’s right. I can sense her new strength.’

‘Some truth in what she said before about her age,’ Alice answered. ‘Pendle witches reckon to come into their full strength when they turn forty. But Lizzie’s always been powerful and dangerous. I know what she’s capable of. Got fresh bones too – a shaman’s – so that’s bound to help her. Tricked him and beat him good and proper, she did. Rare and hard to get, a shaman’s bones. No knowing how strong that might make her- Look, Tom!’ Alice cried, pointing towards the portcullis. ‘Something’s happening down there. Looks like they’re getting ready to attack…’

But it was only two yeomen crossing the bridge, and they seemed to have a prisoner between them, his hands bound behind his back. Once in the courtyard, they cut the ropes and freed him, then thrust something at him – a staff.

It was the Spook.