The Crowfield Curse (20 page)

Shadlok spun around to face William. “Get back to the abbey
now
. Run. Do not stop for anything.”

William paused just long enough to ask, “What about you?”

“Just go!”

William did as he was told. Gripping the hob's good leg, he turned and ran for his life.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

 

 

W
illiam sprinted between the trees, leaping over ruts and potholes. His heart pounded as if it would beat its way out of his chest. The hob twisted his paws into William's hair and hung on tightly.

William reached the main track near the Boundary Oak. He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against the tree for a few moments. In the distance, the abbey bell rang out for sext. The monks would be leaving whatever work they were busy with and filing into the church. By the time he reached the abbey, sext would be over, and they would be back about their tasks again. Suddenly, the abbey seemed to be the only safe place to be in a terrifying world.

Brother Walter gave several loud sniffs. “Can you smell that?” he asked, patting William's head urgently. He sounded worried.

“Smell what?”

“Blood. Not yours. Someone else's.”

“Are you sure?” William asked uneasily.

“A
lot
of blood.”

William took the knife from his belt and gripped it firmly. Up ahead, the track curved northward before branching in two. One way led to Crowfield, the other to Yagleah. They were almost within sight of the abbey now.

William walked quickly, the knife ready in his hand. He peered between the trees, alert for the slightest sign of danger. “Can you see anything?” he asked.

“No, but I can still smell blood.”

They rounded the bend in the track near the abbey bridge. William was appalled by the sight that met his eyes.

The bodies of animals and birds hung from the branches of trees and bushes on either side of the track, hung up by tails or limbs or wings, blood dripping from slit throats. He recognized one of the abbey's two young pigs. His throat thickened as he wondered what had happened to Mary Magdalene. Beside the pig hung a doe, her wide brown eyes fixed and staring in death.

William gazed at the scene of carnage, his body rigid with horror. The hob clung to his neck. He lifted the creature down from his shoulders. “Stay there,” he said, his voice hoarse.

One by one, William took the animals and birds down from the branches and laid them on the grass beside the track. The deer and the pig were heavy and he had to let them drop to the ground by themselves. Their bodies were still warm. They could not have been dead for long.

For a few moments, he held the small bodies of a wren and a robin in his hands. Hot tears filled his eyes as he stroked their soft feathers with his thumbs. He was sickened by the pointless cruelty of their deaths. He laid them on the grass by the body of a fox cub.

William wiped his eyes on a corner of his sleeve and looked around for the hob. Brother Walter, looking small and unhappy, limped over to him. His fur stood in untidy tufts, and his tail dragged along the ground behind him as if the effort of lifting it was simply too much. William hoisted him up and put him on his shoulders. They walked the last of the way back to the abbey in heavyhearted silence. William's hands and the front of his tunic were smeared with blood, but he barely noticed.

Burning anger filled William's chest until he thought it would burst. He knew without the slightest doubt that the massacre was the work of the Dark King's creatures. Was it meant as a threat to Shadlok, a promise of what they were prepared to do to him if he crossed them? William had never hated anyone in his life before, but as he walked over the bridge to the abbey gatehouse, hatred for the fay king raged inside him. Later, if he could slip away from the abbey for a while, he would go back to Foxwist and bury the bodies. There was nothing else he could do for them.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

 

 

B
rother Snail was in his workshop, stirring a pot over the fire. His smile of welcome turned to a gasp of shock at the sight of William, bloodstained and battered, standing in the doorway.

      “Will! What in the name of God has happened to you?” He hurried over and took William by the arm and led him over to a stool.

“It looks worse than it is. Most of the blood's not mine,” William said.

“Whose is it?” The monk examined William's nose. He ran a finger gently over his cheek. “Whose blood is it, Will?”

“It belongs to animals we found slaughtered in the wood, not far from the abbey.”

Brother Snail stared at him in astonishment for a moment. “What animals?”

“Foxes, birds, a deer. One of the abbey pigs. Other creatures,” William said softly, his throat thickening again as he thought of the row of bodies on the grass, still warm as they lay there in their own blood.

“I see,” the monk said evenly. He fetched a bowl of water, some linen rags, and a small jar of salve and set them down on the table. He dipped a rag into the water. “Let's get you cleaned up, and then you can tell me what's been going on.”

William gasped as the cold cloth touched his skin. Brother Snail wiped the blood away, gently and skillfully. He rinsed the cloth and blood swirled in the water.

“There is a cut across your nose, and a deep one on your cheek. They will leave scars. Hold this in place,” he said, wringing the cloth out and laying it across William's face. “It will help the swelling to go down.” He stepped back and stood, hands tucked into the sleeves of his habit, to look sideways at William. “Now, how did this happen? Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”

William told him everything, from the hob's arrival in the swineherd's hut and the visit to Dame Alys, to finding the bodies by the track. Brother Snail listened intently, his eyes bright with anger, his lips clamped tightly shut.

“To think we sent you to the hut to keep you safe,” the monk said when William had finished his story. He took the cloth from William's face and picked up the jar of woundwort salve. He scooped out a little with his fingertips and gently smeared it across William's cheeks and nose. The salve stung for a couple of moments, making William's eyes water.

“Why did the Dark King's warriors kill those animals, do you think?” the monk asked.

“A warning, maybe. They don't want Shadlok and Master Bone to find the angel.”

“And you say the Dark King is somehow to blame for Jacobus Bone's leprosy?” Brother Snail said, looking down at William, a worried look on his thin face.

“He wanted to punish Master Bone for being a great musician, and for being the favorite of the Seelie queen,” William said. It was an effort to talk without hurting his face. He had to say each word slowly, forming the sound with care.

“Very effective,” Snail said grimly, “and deeply evil and malicious, especially if Master Bone really is immortal.”

“He is, according to Brother Walter. The hob knows all about it.”

Brother Snail frowned and looked around. “Where
is
the hob?”

“Outside the hut. He's keeping watch in case any fays have followed us back here.”

“This is a bad business, Will.” Brother Snail sighed heavily and walked to the door. His movements were slow and stiff this morning. He pulled up the hood of his cowl and took his cloak from a peg by the door. He eased it around his bowed shoulders. “I have to tell the prior what has happened. Come with me, but say nothing about the Dark King or Master Bone's part in all this. One last thing, Will, you say you know where the angel is buried?”

“I think the monks buried it in the Whistling Hollow.”

Brother Snail nodded slowly as he considered this. “I think you could very well be right.”

“Should I tell Master Bone and Shadlok where the grave is?” William asked.

The monk was quiet for a moment. “Do you have any idea why they want to find it?”

“The hob thinks they want to use the bones for a magic spell, to cure Master Bone's leprosy.”

“Does he now?” Snail raised his eyebrows.

“Would it do any harm to let them use a bone or two?” William said. “The angel doesn't need them.”

“I honestly don't know,” Snail said. He opened the door and stared out at the bleak winter's day. It was a few moments before he spoke again. “There is nothing to say the bones are still there, Will. The ground in the Hollow is damp. Perhaps they've rotted away over the last hundred years.”

“But if we can find them, would it be so wrong to let Master Bone use one for his cure?” William asked. He did not particularly like Jacobus Bone, but he felt a deep pity for the man. To be condemned to an unending life of suffering and loneliness was a terrible thing. But it was more than that; if he helped Master Bone, then he would be fighting back against the Dark King and his fays. He wanted some small revenge for what they had done to the animals.

“We have to ask ourselves if the angel would have wanted to help Master Bone,” Snail said slowly. “If the answer is yes, then we should tell him where the grave is.”

William said nothing. How could anyone possibly guess what thoughts went through an angel's mind?

“All we know for sure is that he gave his own life to save the life of a lowly hob. I think that tells us what we need to know,” the monk said with a fleeting smile.

“So we're going to tell Master Bone where the grave is?”

The monk nodded and crossed himself, fingers touching forehead, chest, and either shoulder. His face was pale and drawn. “God forgive me if I am making the wrong choice, Will, but yes, we are.”

“Prior Ardo would probably burn us at the stake for allowing the angel's grave to be disturbed,” William said, coming to stand beside Brother Snail, “and for letting such holy bones be used for magic.”

The monk rubbed his hands together to ease the ache in his fingers. His face was pinched with pain. “That is why we must keep this matter to ourselves, Will. Nobody at Crowfield must ever find out about this.”

William nodded his heartfelt agreement. The Dark King's anger would be as pale as the moon at midday compared to the prior's wrath if he discovered what they had done. Not to mention what God might have to say about all this when they stood before Him on Judgment Day.

William followed the monk out into the cold afternoon and closed the hut door behind him. The chilly breeze ruffled his hair and made his broken nose ache. There was no sign of the hob. William hoped he had found somewhere warm and safe to keep watch from.

“I will speak to Master Bone,” the monk said, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his habit. “Go back to your work and keep your head down, Will. This doesn't concern you any longer.”

William started to protest, but Brother Snail shook his head. There was a warning gleam in his eyes.

“No, Will, no arguments. You could have died today. Whatever Master Bone and Shadlok do from now on will not involve you in any way, do you understand? The Dark King is
their
enemy, not yours. Don't be so quick to pick a fight with a foe you cannot hope to defeat.”

There was a sudden commotion as two pigs, followed closely by Shadlok, emerged from the woods across the river. One of the pigs charged around, ears flapping, squealing with excitement. The other pig, William was delighted to see, was Mary Magdalene. She crossed the flood meadow to the abbey bridge at a sedate trot.

“Go and open the gate, Will,” Brother Snail said, smiling broadly.

William raced away, jumping over rows of cabbages and skidding on the gravel path. When he reached the gatehouse, he found that Brother Stephen had beaten him to it and was kneeling on the bridge, hugging Mary Magdalene. The pig grunted softly and seemed to be just as pleased to see the monk as he was to see her. Shadlok herded the other pig toward the gate.

William opened the wicker gate of the pigpen. The young pig, sensing defeat, ran across the yard and into the pen without any further fuss. Mary Magdalene followed a few moments later and flopped down in the straw.

Brother Stephen wiped his nose on his sleeve. His eyes gleamed with tears. He stood by the pen, gazing fondly down at the old sow. He glanced at William and frowned at the sight of his broken nose.

“What happened to you, boy? Did you run into trouble in the woods? And where is the other pig?”

“We were attacked by . . . outlaws. Shadlok came to our rescue.” Broadly speaking, it was true. “The other pig is dead.”

“Does the prior know about this?”

“Brother Snail has gone to tell him.”

Brother Stephen nodded. “Very well. Seeing as you're here, you can make yourself useful. An apple tree has come down at the far end of the orchard. Fetch the axe and cut it up, and put the logs to one side in the woodshed.”

Apple wood, William knew, burned with a pleasant smell. It was one of the few small indulgences the monks enjoyed, a fire of apple wood in the warming room on the cold dark days around Christmastide.

William took the large wood axe from where it hung on the wall of the small barn and set off to the orchard. The woundwort salve had eased the pain of his broken nose and cleared his head. He looked up at the gray winter sky and breathed in slowly and deeply. In a day or two, Master Bone and Shadlok would be on their way and his days would settle back into their familiar routine. It was not the life he would have chosen for himself, but at least it would be filled with commonplace things, and not fays and their dangerous magic. After the events of the last few days, he would happily settle for that.

* * *

“Did you speak to the prior?” William asked when he saw Brother Snail in the yard a short time later. He was pushing a handcart full of apple logs to the woodshed and stopped for a few minutes to talk to the monk.

Brother Snail nodded. “I told him you were set upon by outlaws, and that Master Bone's servant came to your aid.”

“It's a strange outlaw who kills birds and animals and hangs them from trees,” William said, frowning at the memory.

“The prior thinks so, too,” Brother Snail said. “Nevertheless, he means to send word to Sir Robert at Weforde to warn him that outlaws are attacking people in Foxwist. And he has no intention of sending you back to the swineherd's hut.”

William was relieved to hear this.

“I have also told Shadlok where the grave is,” the monk added, lowering his voice and glancing around to make sure they were not being overheard. His eyes were troubled, as if even now, he was still not sure he had done the right thing. “It is up to him what he does next, if he decides to go to the Hollow or not.”

“He'll go,” William said with complete certainty.

“Well, he will have to go soon,” Brother Snail said, “because the prior has asked Master Bone to leave the abbey. And God forgive me for being so uncharitable, Will, but I'll be heartily glad to see him go.”