The Crowfield Curse (9 page)

“I found the hob in a trap in the wood,” William said slowly. “His leg was hurt. I freed him, and he has been staying at the abbey while he heals.”

“You brought it here to the crippled monk,” the woman said, nodding. “He has the Sight, too, it would seem. He's not like the others who live here. I've seen him gathering plants in the woods and the fields. He's a good man.”

The woman seemed to know a great deal about what had been going on these last few days, William realized. She knew all about Brother Snail, too.

“I want to see the hob for myself, to make sure it is being tended to properly,” the woman continued briskly, pointing to the hut with a curved claw of a finger.

“Brother Snail has done his best for him,” William said, nettled by this.

“I am sure he has, but he has never treated a hob before.”

“And you have?”

“On occasion,” the woman said mildly, ignoring his rudeness. “Now, perhaps you will let me into the hut?”

William hesitated. What would she do if he refused? And why hadn't she merely let herself in? Was there some reason why she could not go inside Brother Snail's workshop uninvited?

“I will ask only once,” she said softly, her eyes glittering.

A cold shiver went down William's back. He walked to the door and lifted the latch, fervently hoping he was not making a mistake in letting her into the hut. Without a word, she brushed past him and stepped over the threshold. William followed close behind.

The hob was curled up in the empty wood basket. The firewood was piled neatly on the floor nearby. He was fast asleep and snoring softly in little wheezy whistles. His tail hung over the side, and bits of straw were stuck in the tuft of reddish hair at the end.

The woman stood just inside the doorway. The slightest of smiles pleated the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth as she looked down at the sleeping hob. She glanced at William and nodded as if satisfied. “I can see that it is in good hands. You have done well, you and the monk.”

There was a rustle of wings as the white crow landed on the path outside the hut door. It gave one hoarse
kaa-ak
and hopped up onto the bench. The woman turned toward the bird with a frown. “Fionn warns me that someone is coming this way.” She looked back at William. “If you ever need my help, go to Weforde and ask for me there. Tell them you are looking for Dame Alys and they will tell you where to find me.”

She pulled up the hood of her cloak and left the hut. William followed her out and closed the door behind him. He stood for a few moments to watch her weave her way amongst the apple trees in the orchard. The white crow, Fionn, flew after her, soaring over the treetops and disappearing into the fog.

Footsteps scrunched on the gravel path leading to the hut. William went to see who was coming, and to his dismay saw that it was Prior Ardo. His cowl was pulled up and his face was hidden in shadow, but it was unmistakably him. He walked quickly, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his habit, and for a moment, panic rattled through William. What if the prior went into the hut and saw the hob?

The prior looked up at William and frowned. “What are you doing here, boy?”

“Bringing water to the workshop for Brother Snail.”

The prior pushed back his cowl. “I saw someone making off through the orchard. Who was it?”

William thought quickly. “A villager from Weforde, begging for some vegetables from the garden.”

“Begging?” the prior snapped. “Stealing, more like. Did you give him anything?”

“No.” At least that much was true. William was relieved to realize the prior did not suspect that the unwelcome beggar was a woman.

“And was that a white bird I saw on the roof of the hut?” The prior's voice was heavy with suspicion. “A crow, perhaps?”

William shrugged and made a face. “I don't know.”

The prior's eyes narrowed. “If you see a white crow on abbey lands, boy, tell me immediately. Is that clear?”

William nodded.

“The bird is an abomination and must not be tolerated to live,” the prior added, his thin fingers touching the heavy iron cross hanging on a leather cord around his neck.

William stared at the monk's thin, humorless face with dislike. Was he prepared to kill a bird merely because its feathers were the wrong color? Or was there some other reason he hated the crow?

“Don't idle there, boy. Go about your work.” The prior turned on his heel and set off back along the path toward the abbey.

William let out a sigh of relief. That was far too close a shave. He and Brother Snail would have to take more care to keep the hob hidden. If the prior wanted to kill the crow for the sin of being white, then what would he do to the hob?

For a few moments, William sat on the bench beside the hut door, thinking about Dame Alys. Did he really have the Sight, as she seemed to believe? And Brother Snail, too?

William knew all about the Sight; Old Mabby, back home in Iwele, had the Sight. She was a mad old crone who had a ramshackle hovel full of animals and birds that she had tamed and cared for over the years. If anyone had a wart to charm away, or needed a love potion, or something darker, they went to Old Mabby. The villagers treated her with a fearful respect but her gift set her apart from them. Being different was rarely a good thing to be. William didn't want the Sight and he definitely did not want to be different.

But want it or not, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Dame Alys had called it a gift, but that remained to be seen. It could just as easily be a curse.

C
HAPTER
TEN

 

 

T
he foggy afternoon had darkened into a blind dusk when two horsemen rode along the track from Weforde and crossed the bridge to the abbey gates. Prior Ardo had ordered a lantern to be hung on a post beside the bridge and a second one in an upper window of the gatehouse, to guide the travelers to the abbey. William, instructed by the prior to watch for their arrival, ran to open the gate as soon as he heard the hollow ring of hooves on the bridge and the jingle of harness.

The horsemen waited silently while William dragged the heavy gate wide enough to allow them to ride on into the yard.

Burning with curiosity, William stared at the abbey's guests. The first one through the gate was a man with long silver-white hair, tied back with a strip of leather. The lantern light picked out a web of scars on his pale face. He was slim of build and not particularly tall, as far as William could judge. It was impossible to guess his age. He might have been twenty years old, but he might just as easily have been forty. There was something timeless about the thin, sharp-boned face that William found unsettling.

The man glanced down at William as he rode past. There was no friendliness in his expression. “Tell your prior that my master, Jacobus Bone, has arrived,” he said, his voice as soft and cold as a snowdrift.

William looked at the second man and felt a shiver of unease. Master Bone wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up. His shoulders were hunched and he sat stiffly in the saddle, looking like a scarecrow propped up on the horse's back. But what disturbed William the most was that he was wearing a mask. It was a brown leather mockery of a face with two holes cut out for the eyes and a fold of leather poking out like a beak over a hole for the nose.

The horsemen rode on across the yard and disappeared into the fog. William closed and barred the gate and ran after them.

The scar-faced man was helping his master to dismount. Moving slowly and awkwardly and gasping with pain, Master Bone leaned heavily on his servant as he half-slid, half-fell from his saddle.

William watched them for a moment, then sprinted through the kitchen and collided with Brother Gabriel in the cloister alley.

“Ouf!” the monk grunted, grabbing William's shoulder to steady himself. “Walk, boy, before you do someone a mischief,” he snapped.

“Master Bone and his servant have arrived,” William said quickly. “They're in the yard by the kitchen door.”

“Fetch the prior. He's with Abbot Simon. I'll go and greet our guests.” The monk hurried away.

William ran along the dark cloister to the stairs up to the abbot's chamber. It was as black as a moonless night through the archway. He could hear the murmur of voices coming from upstairs: prayers for the dying, as the abbot's life slowly ebbed away.

Taking a deep breath, William set off up the narrow stone steps. He reached the landing at the top and knocked softly on the door. The praying continued. He knocked again, a little louder, and heard a shuffling sound in the room beyond. The door opened a crack and Brother Snail's face appeared.

“William,” he said, sounding surprised. “What is it?”

“Master Bone is here.”

Brother Snail nodded and turned to speak to someone in the room behind him. A moment later, the door opened wide and Prior Ardo stood there. William caught a glimpse of the abbot's room. A fire burned on the hearth and shadows flickered across the lime-washed walls. A large wax candle stood in an ornate silver holder at the foot of the bed, where Abbot Simon lay propped up on pillows. His skin was a sickly yellow and hung loose on his bones, and his eyes had sunk back into their sockets. His lips were ringed with blue and his breathing was a harsh rasp above the monotonous flow of prayers from the two monks kneeling by the bed. William stepped back, repelled by the cloying smells of sickness, sweat, and incense.

“Where are they?” the prior asked briskly, nodding for William to go ahead of him down the stairs.

“In the yard with Brother Gabriel.”

The prior handed William the two keys. “Unlock the doors and light the candles. I will go through the kitchen and meet them in the yard. Be quick, boy.”

A fire had been burning in the guest chamber fireplace all day but it had barely taken the chill off the room. William unlocked the yard door and left it ajar while he lit the rushlights in their brackets around the walls.

The yard door opened and Prior Ardo ushered Jacobus Bone into the room.

“We are a small house and not used to guests,” the prior said, frowning around the drafty chamber. He stared at the two men for a few moments as if trying to decide what to make of them. “Firewood and water will be brought to you each morning, and your meals will be served in here. If there is anything else you need, Brother Gabriel will see to it.”

Master Bone inclined his head in a slow nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you for the water and firewood,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper, “but my servant, Shadlok, will prepare my food.”

Prior Ardo looked a little startled. “As you wish. We can give you flour and vegetables, and carp from the fishponds . . .”

“That will not be necessary,” the man interrupted. He sounded weary and the strength seemed to leave his body. Shadlok stepped forward and took his arm. He guided his master to the chair beside the fire.

“My servant will provide whatever food we need.”

“Very well, if that is what you would prefer,” the prior said, glancing at Brother Gabriel and raising his eyebrows. William could almost hear his thoughts. What food could he possibly hope to scavenge around Crowfield in the winter? There was little enough to feed the monks as it was.

“Master Bone needs to rest after the journey,” Shadlok said. He stared at the prior until the monk took the hint.

“We will leave you to get settled,” Prior Ardo said stiffly. “The boy will see to your horses.”

The monks left the room and William walked over to the yard door.

“Wait, boy,” Master Bone said, without turning in his chair. He sat awkwardly, his body bowed forward. His breathing sounded labored.

William paused with his hand on the door latch.

“Come closer, into the light.”

William walked back to stand in front of Master Bone. The man's eyes glittered through the holes in the mask, and seemed to be the only thing about him that was fully alive.

“What is your name?”

“William Paynel.”