The Book Without Words (15 page)

“Which ones did he take?”

“Please,” said Alfric. “Perhaps they go from the first number to the last.”

“If we think the first gave him life,” said Sybil, “then the second must have been Thoughts. The third is Magic. The fourth, and smallest, is Time.”

Damian reached out and picked up a stone. The moment he did, Odo leaped forward and pecked the boy’s hand sharply. “Leave it alone!” he squawked.

“Ow!” cried Damian, dropping the stone. He sucked his hand where the raven had pecked. “I was only going to look. You need not attack me so!”

Sybil scooped up the stones and put them in her purse. To Alfric she said, “Thank you. You have been a great blessing. Come,” she said to the raven. “We must decide what to do.”

8

Ignoring Damian’s angry looks, Sybil and Odo went halfway down the steps. When she sat, the raven perched on her knees and stared up at her, his black eyes intense.

“Odo,” said Sybil, her voice low. “If all of this is true, it’s we who shall decide if Master lives or dies.”

“You mean, decide to … kill him or not?”

“I don’t think we can kill a man who is already dead.”

“Then—keep him from resuming life,” said Odo. “I don’t know but it’s the same thing. Except it’s not certain he’ll return.”

“Odo, he swallowed another stone.”

“Perhaps he never really died.”

“You know he did,” said Sybil. “And the monk said if Master swallows all the stones, and thereby lives, I shall die.”

“In other words, if we don’t murder him—he will murder you.”

“That’s not fair. I say, let him die a natural death so I might live my natural life.”

“What about the gold?” said Odo.

“Is that all you care about?”

“Sybil, nothing is more important.”

“Why?”

“Only gold will buy the life we wish.”

Sybil shook her head. “I’m young. Shouldn’t I have a chance to live? I want to give both stones and book back to Brother Wilfrid.”

“And I say,” said Odo, “without gold, we might as well be dead.”

“Talk to the monk,” said Sybil. “Listen to him. You’ll see he’s right.”

“If you insist,” said the bird. “Just know that I’ll demand some reason to do what he wants.”

9

When Thorston slammed the door in Bashcroft’s face, the thwarted reeve remained in the courtyard. It was the second time he had been treated rudely by those in the house. It made him angrier than ever. He did consider making a third try immediately and demanding—by force of law and arms—that Alfric be returned to him. But Bashcroft hesitated: there was something odd about Master Thorston, something unsettling. It made him cautious.

The reeve consoled himself with the fact that he had at least confronted the man—proof that he was real—surely not dying. What’s more, the man had all but confessed to being an alchemist. As far as Bashcroft was concerned, even if he did not find the means of making gold, the least he should get was the gold already made.

He decided it was time to speak to Mistress Weebly again.

“As God is my witness,” the apothecary said to him, “the girl told me her master was close to death.”

“She lied. No man could be more alive. And I for one am glad of it. I shall make this Master Thorston’s gold my own, as well as his gold-making formula. My question to you, Mistress, is this: have you all the ingredients this recipe might require?”

“It was I who supplied him with all.”

“Mistress, I offer you this proposition: once I have the secrets, I shall share them with you. Of course, I shall take most of what you make, but you shall have some.”

“I’ll do so,” said the woman.

“Agreed. Then I shall bring my soldiers forward to lay siege to the house. The prospect of death is always frightening. Once I have the formula, I’ll hang Master Thorston and his maid, take the house, and keep everything within. Now, Mistress, one final point: your apprentice is in that house.”

“The rascal. I fear he overheard me when you were here. The very next morning—all on his own—he went off without a word. He has lost all favor with me.”

“Then he too must be hanged,” said the reeve. “On the morrow, I’ll demand they all come out. If they don’t, we’ll enter by force of arms. My gallows is already erected before the house. But then, Mistress,
Dura
lex, sed lex.
I intend to be as hard as death itself.”

10

The night was cold and bright, the skies clear and calm, save for a few supple shreds of clouds shifting south. Moonlight streamed though the front window of the upper room, suffusing all with a pale yellow light. The thin barley soup Sybil made had been consumed. All was still.

Odo sat upon his column of books, preening his shabby feathers. Alfric had the Book Without Words in his lap and was studying it. Damian sat in a corner, fiddling with some of Thorstorn’s apparatus. Sybil, leaning on her arms, gazed out the window at the gallows. She wondered if she were not like a condemned person in prison, awaiting execution.

Exactly when he appeared, Sybil was not certain, but she suddenly realized Brother Wilfrid was there. She had no doubt: he was waiting for her.

“Have you found out anything about gold?” Damian asked of Alfric.

Alfric looked up from the book, darted a glance at Sybil, and then said, “No.”

“Then this is a fools’ school,” said Damian, tossing aside the tool he had been holding. “All this sitting about. We know what the stones can do. Which means we can have your master’s magic by simply swallowing them. You can have the one for Time. I’ll take Magic. What are we waiting for?”

“They are not ours for the swallowing,” said Sybil.

“Surely they are no longer your master’s,” said Damian. “He’s dead. Buried. Twice. That’s enough for most men.”

“You must be patient,” said Sybil.

“Patient!” cried Damian. “If I stay another day in this place, I shall go daft. No, I’ll stay until morning. No more. Then—I don’t care what you say—I intend to leave. For now I prefer to sleep. It will pass the time quickly.” He got up and lumbered back toward the back room.

Odo looked around. “Irritating boy,” he muttered.

Alfric yawned and put the book on the table. “Please, Mistress, may I go to sleep too?”

“Of course,” said Sybil.

Alfric brought the book to Sybil. As she took it, he whispered, “Follow me,” and headed down the hall toward the back room. Sybil set the book on the table, glanced out the window, and then went down the hall.

Alfric was waiting for her halfway down the hall.

“What is it?” Sybil asked.

“In the book,” Alfric whispered, “there
is
something about gold.”

Sybil put a finger to her lips. “Don’t speak of it yet.”

“Why?”

“I don’t wish to be tempted. Now, just go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The boy looked up at Sybil, unexpectedly hugged her, and then went into the back room.

Sybil returned to the main room. “Odo,” she said, “he’s out there.”

“Who?” said the bird. “Bashcroft?”

“The man from whom Master stole the book: Brother Wilfrid. I’m sure he’s come to speak to me. You agreed you’d listen to him. Will you come with me?”

“And the boys?”

“They’re sleeping. Master is buried. All is safe.”

“I want to be sure they are sleeping,” said Odo. He hopped to the back room. “They’re fine,” he said when he returned. “But I beg you, for safety’s sake, don’t take the stones. And promise me we’ll go no farther than the courtyard.”

“Agreed,” said Sybil. “The stones can stay in the chest.” She went toward the steps, holding her elbow out. Odo jumped upon it, and when he clawed his way to her shoulder, the two went down to the door.

Sybil lifted the crossbar from the door. As she began to put it down it slipped from her hand and fell with a bang.

“Clumsy girl,” muttered Odo.

“Sorry,” murmured Sybil. She pulled the door open and looked out. Moonlight cast a glow over the courtyard, bringing a silver sheen to the smallest of puddles. Overhead clouds drifted. The air was calm, if chilly. “Remember,” repeated Odo. “Only for a short time.”

Sybil nodded and the two stepped away from the house.

11

In the back room, a sleeping Damian heard the sound of the falling crossbeam. He sat up in alarm. Alfric did not stir.

“Girl!” called Damian. “Bird! What was that?” Getting no response, he went into the front room, only to find it deserted.

“Deceivers,” the boy muttered. “I suppose they are at those chests below.” He took up a candle and crept down the steps. He saw that the trapdoor was open, but when he peered below he saw no one. The chests remained closed, locked. Puzzled, Damian looked about and discovered the door’s crossbeam on the ground. “Churls. They’ve gone somewhere without telling me.”

Suddenly his face brightened. “The stones,” he said aloud, and started back up the steps.

12

Sybil, with Odo on her shoulder, walked to the gallows, paused, and looked up. The noose dangled from the crossbeam like an open hand—as if ready to snatch her. It made her feel queasy.

Odo glanced up too. “We are surrounded by death,” he said.

Sybil put her arms around herself to keep warm. But even as they stood there, Brother Wilfred, small, stooped, and limping, appeared. While an agitated Odo shifted about on her shoulder, Sybil acknowledged him with a nod.