The Spook's Apprentice by Joseph Delaney

me not to come down early and I suddenly felt that I was in real danger.
    As soon as I had entertained that thought something hit me very hard on the back of the head; I staggered towards the door, almost losing my balance and falling headlong.
    I didn’t need a second warning. I ran from the room and up the stairs. Then, halfway up, I froze. There was someone standing at the top. Someone tall and menacing, silhouetted against the light from the door of my room.
    I halted, unsure which way to go until I was reassured by a familiar voice. It was the Spook.
    It was the first time I’d seen him without his long black cloak. He was wearing a black tunic and grey breeches and I could see that, although he was a tall man with broad shoulders, the rest of his body was thin, probably because some days all he got was a nibble of cheese. He was like the very best farm labourers when they get older. Some, of course, just get fatter, but the majority - like the ones my dad sometimes hires for the harvest now that most of my brothers have left home - are thin, with tough, wiry bodies. ‘Thinner means fitter,’ Dad always says and now, looking at the Spook, I could see why he was able to walk at such a furious pace and for so long without resting.
    ‘I warned you about going down early,’ he said quietly. ‘No doubt you got your ears boxed. Let that be a lesson to you, lad. Next time it might be far worse.’
    ‘I thought I heard the bell,’ I said. ‘But it must have been a bell in my dream.’
    The Spook laughed softly. ‘That’s one of the first and most important lessons that an apprentice has to learn,’ he said; ‘the difference between waking and dreaming. Some never learn that.’
    He shook his head, took a step towards me and patted me on the shoulder. ‘Come, I’ll show you round the garden. We’ve got to start somewhere and it’ll pass the time until breakfast’s ready’
    When the Spook led me out, using the back door of the house, I saw that the garden was very large, much larger than it had looked from outside the hedge.
    We walked east, squinting into the early morning sun, until we reached a wide lawn. The previous evening I’d thought that the garden was completely surrounded by the hedge, but now I realized that I was mistaken. There were gaps in it, and directly ahead was the wood. The path of white pebbles divided the lawn and vanished into the trees.
    ‘There’s really more than one garden,’ said the Spook. ‘Three, in fact, each reached by a path like this. We’ll look at the eastern garden first. It’s safe enough when the sun’s up, but never walk down this path after dark. Well, not unless you have very good reason and certainly never when you’re alone.’
    Nervously I followed the Spook towards the trees. The grass was longer at the edge of the lawn and it was dotted with bluebells. I like bluebells because they flower in spring and always remind me that the long, hot days of summer are not too far away, but now I hardly gave them a second glance. The morning sun was hidden by the trees and the air had suddenly got much cooler. It reminded me of my visit to the kitchen.
    There was something strange and dangerous about this part of the wood, and it seemed to be getting steadily colder the further we advanced into the trees.
    There were rooks’ nests high above us, and the birds’ harsh, angry cries made me shiver even more than the cold. They were about as musical as my dad, who used to start singing as we got to the end of the milking. If the milk ever went sour my mam used to blame it on him.
    The Spook halted and pointed to the ground about five paces ahead. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
    The grass had been cleared and at the centre of the large patch of bare earth was a gravestone. It was vertical but leaning slightly to the left. On the ground before it, six feet of soil was edged with smaller stones, which was unusual. But there was