The Crowfield Curse (29 page)

Shawm:
a woodwind instrument, similar to a modern oboe.

Small Beer:
a diluted beer with a very low alcohol content, drunk by adults and children with meals.

Transepts:
the shorter cross-arms of the church, between the nave and the choir.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
would like to say a heartfelt thank-you to everyone at the Chicken House, for believing in the book and for all their help and encouragement. I would especially like to thank Imogen Cooper, my editor, and my agent, Linda Davis. There are, of course, many more people who helped the book on its way. Thank you to one and all.

Special Sneak Preview!

Young monks' apprentice Will is gifted with the Sight: able to see beyond this mortal coil into the spirit realms of Old Magic. Protected by the warrior fay Shadlok—and befriended by the wry, wary hobgoblin called Brother Walter—the boy is just coming into his strange powers. But now, from its very foundations, Crowfield Abbey has begun to crumble. As Will slaves to salvage the chapel, he discovers something truly terrifying. Crawling up through the rubble, creeping into his darkest dreams, a heathen creature from a pagan past has come back to unleash havoc on holy ground!

 

W
hen William reached the green, Robin wasn't there. He looked around in dismay, but he couldn't see the red-haired boy any where. With the market over and the rain falling steadily, there were few people about. William pulled up his hood and trudged across the muddy green, past the empty pinfold, and onto the lane through the village.

The breeze was picking up. It drove the low gray clouds across the sky and set the rain hard at William's back. As he passed the houses along the lane, he could hear the sounds of busy lives going on inside: voices, laughter, shouting, dogs barking. He could smell food cooking. In one small hut, someone was singing. In the crofts behind the houses, he glimpsed chickens and pigs sheltering from the rain. Only the geese and ducks around the pond on the green seemed to like the weather. William's spirits sank lower by the minute. It seemed as if everyone was safe and warm indoors, while he still had the long and lonely walk through Foxwist ahead of him.

William wasn't paying attention to where he was putting his feet and stepped into a deep puddle. Cold muddy water swamped one boot. Cursing under his breath, he pulled off his boot to tip out the water. His stocking was dripping.
Much more of this and I'll grow webbed feet and start to quack,
William thought, as he tried to wring out the saturated foot of his hose. He put his boot on and set off again, trying to ignore his chilly discomfort as he squelched along.

William reached the plank bridge over the ditch bet ween the village and the West Field. The village boys were still running about, their voices shrill and distant. He watched them with envy. It was a long time since he had felt that carefree.

He saw a figure up ahead, walking quickly toward the village from the direction of the forest, head down against the rain. Clinging to its shoulder was a white crow, dipping and swaying with each hurried step. It was Dame Alys and Fionn, William realized. The thought of meeting the wise woman on this lonely stretch of track was not a comfortable one, but she turned off onto a path skirting the West Field, heading for Weforde mill.

Dame Alys noticed William and came to a sudden halt, leaning heavily on her walking stick. She was too far away for him to see her face clearly, but he felt the sharp stab of her stare. The crow fell for ward into a wide-winged swoop, landing with a bounce on the path. William's pace slowed, and he watched her warily. For the first time, he noticed that she was carrying a sack. The rough cloth and the hand gripping the neck of the sack were covered with something dark. It might have been mud, but it was hard to tell at this distance.

William jumped when someone put a hand on his arm. He turned and was surprised to see Robin. He hadn't heard the boy approach. He glanced back at Dame Alys, but the woman had turned away and was now walking quickly toward the mill, poling herself along with her stick. The sack was hidden by the folds of her cloak. Fionn flew on ahead, a glimmer of white against the gray sky.

“I'm sorry I wasn't waiting for you,” Robin said with a smile. His woollen hat was rolled up and tucked into his belt, and his wet hair hung clung to his neck. He wasn't wearing a cloak and the shoulders and back of his tunic were soaked, but he didn't seem to care. “I went to the alehouse to buy this.” He opened his battered old leather bag and took out a small loaf of maslin bread. It had been pulled apart and a thick slice of cheese was stuffed inside. He tore it in half and offered a piece to William.

For a few moments, William hesitated. It was Lent, and the eating of meat, or cheese or milk or butter — anything coming from an animal — wasn't allowed, other than on a Sunday, and today was only Wednesday.

“Aren't you hungry?” Robin asked.

“It's Lent,” William said reluctantly. He saw Robin's blank look and felt a flicker of surprise. “Don't you fast for Lent?”

Robin smiled thinly and glanced at the hunk of bread. “It seems not. Don't you want this?”

“Well, yes,” William said, “but . . .”

“But what?”

“I shouldn't.”

Robin's eyes narrowed. “Who would know if you ate it? I won't tell anyone.”

William was sorely tempted. Hunger gnawed with rat-sharp teeth at his stomach. Would it
really
be so bad to eat the bread and cheese? He would work extra hard in the abbey for the rest of Lent to make up for it. The prior would have his hide if he found out, but surely God wouldn't punish him too harshly?

“All right, thank you,” William said at last, grinning with delight. He took the bread and sank his teeth into it. It was still warm, and the cheese had softened. There was even a smear of melting butter on the bread. Yet another sin to add to his growing list. He closed his eyes with pleasure and chewed slowly. He had never tasted anything so wonderful before. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Robin was watching him with amusement.

“Don't they feed you at the abbey?”

“If you can call it food,” William said. “It's not like this. And there's never enough of it, especially now that Lent has begun.” He took another mouthful and muffled, “Though that's probably not a bad thing.”

He noticed that Robin didn't touch his piece of bread. Instead, the boy tucked it back into his bag.

“You delivered your message safely?” Robin asked. William nodded. “Sir Robert is sending his master mason to the abbey in the morning.”

“And will this mason be able to stop the church from collapsing, do you think?”

William made a face. “I hope so. How long will you stay in Yagleah?”

“A day, a week, who knows?” Robin looked sideways at William with the slightest of smiles. “Perhaps I will never leave.”

William thought this was an odd thing to say. “Where did you live before you took to the road with your flute?”

“It wouldn't mean a thing to you if I told you, but I am a
long
way from home.”

“Have you ever been to London?” William asked after a few moments. Since his brother Hugh had set out for London three years ago, he'd been curious about the city. He wanted to be able to picture in his mind where his brother was; perhaps then Hugh wouldn't feel quite so far away.

“Many times. Why do you ask?”

“My brother Hugh is there. At least, I think he is. That's where he was going when he left home.”

“It's a long journey from Iwele to London. A lot can happen along the way. For all you know, he might be lying dead in a ditch somewhere,” Robin said with a shrug.

William stared at him speechlessly for several moments, shocked by the boy's callous words, but then frowned. “How did you know we lived in Iwele?”

“You told me,” Robin said lightly.

“No, I didn't.”

“Then I must have overheard someone talking about you in the village.”

“Why would anyone in Weforde be talking about me? And most people there only know I live at the abbey, not where I came from.” William watched Robin's face closely.

“Well, somebody must have mentioned it, because I know, don't I?” Robin said reasonably, his eyes wide and innocent. Up close, the boy's eyes seemed greener, William noticed, and not really brown at all.

William let the matter go for the moment and finished the last of his bread and cheese.

They walked up the sloping track and into the forest. The afternoon was losing light quickly. The misty gloom of the woodland made William shiver. He was very glad for Robin's company.

“We'd better hurry,” William said, squinting up at the lowering sky through the falling rain, “if you're going to reach Yagleah before dark.”

“The darkness doesn't trouble me,” Robin said, grinning, “nor a spit of rain.”

William knew he should warn Robin about the dangers lurking in Foxwist, but even so, he hesitated before adding, “The forest won't be safe after dusk.”

“Forests and lonely trackways seldom are. Wherever I travel, I hear stories of wild animals, thieves, and ghosts.” Robin leaned a little closer to William and added, “Not to mention tales of fay creatures ready to lead the unwary traveler astray. Do you believe in fays, William?”

William just shrugged and looked away.

“Most people don't. They are just the stuff of stories told around the fire,” Robin said. The slightest of smiles touched his thin lips. “But I can say with all honesty that I've traveled this land from one end to the other and have never once been troubled by a fay creature.”

“Yes, well,” William muttered, feeling his cheeks redden. If Robin didn't believe in fays, there was nothing he could say to change his mind, unless he told him about Shadlok and the hob, and William had no intention of doing that.

“But if the fay
do
walk these woods,” Robin added, an odd gleam in his eyes, “then it won't be safe whether it is night or broad daylight.”

They walked along without talking for a while. William searched for something to say to break the silence.

“What's London like?” he asked at last.

“Big,” Robin said. “It would fill the whole of that valley behind us. Narrow streets full of houses, people jostling for space with horses and dogs, cats and rats, disease and hunger, wealth and plenty and poverty. You can watch a man being hanged on the gallows at Smithfield in the morning and see his head on a pole above the gatehouse of London Bridge that afternoon. And the noise!” Robin's face seemed to light up with a strange excitement. He turned to grin at William. “Imagine everybody in Weforde jumping to their feet, all shouting and yelling at once. That would be just the smallest part of the noise in London. The smell of river mud is bad in winter and worse in summer. The air is thick with smoke from hundreds of fires and ovens, and ripe with the stink from cesspits and the drains down the middle of the streets. It has a taste that stays with you long after you leave.”