The Crowfield Demon (17 page)

“And I know about the demon,” William added recklessly.

Her face quivered with rage, and she spat at his feet. “Belinus is not a demon! You have had your chance to help me, boy. I won't ask again.”

In a whirl of fury, she turned and stamped away. She pushed aside the holly branches with her stick and forced her way back into the forest. Fionn flew after her.

For a long time after she had gone, William stood on the track, waves of sick dread churning through his belly.
She has my blood
, he thought. It was only a smear, but perhaps that was all she needed for an offering to the demon. The question was, what would the demon do with it?

When the bell for dinner rang, William returned to the abbey. He passed Brother Stephen and Brother Gabriel in the yard. They watched him walk by in silence, their eyes hostile. He heard them whispering behind his back and glanced over his shoulder. He saw Brother Gabriel cross himself.

The hob was in his usual perch in the blackthorn. He saw the cut on William's cheek, and his face puckered with concern.

“You're hurt,” he said, reaching down to prod William's cheek gently.

“I met Dame Alys in the forest,” William said. “She scratched me.”

“Why?” The hob sounded surprised. “Did you do something to make her angry?”

“No. She wanted some of my blood as an offering to the demon,” William said, his stomach tightening at the memory, “and she also asked me to steal the bowl for her.”

The hob clambered quickly down the tree, as sure-footed as a cat. His eyes were wide with alarm. “Nonono! You must not give her the bowl, and you must keep your blood to yourself.”

“Well, I didn't run up and offer it to her,” William said. “As for the bowl, I have no intention of giving it to her.”

William followed the hob into the hut. He sat on a stool while the hob fetched a bowl of water.

“Bad, bad woman,” the hob muttered as he dipped a rag into the water and climbed onto the table to dab at William's cheek. The wet cloth was soothing and cool against the burn of the cut. William grinned at him.

“That's much better, thank you.”

The hob dabbed the cut dry, then dried his paws with a linen rag. “The scratch is not deep. It will heal quickly. But she is still a bad woman for doing this to you.”

“She won't get close enough to me to ever do it again,” William said, a little of his anger returning.

“Good,” the hob said. He pointed to the basket of food that had been left on the table. “The one with the simple wits brought that for you.”

William took a covered earthenware pot from the basket and sniffed the contents cautiously.

“What's in it?” the hob asked, leaning down to take a look inside the pot.

“I don't think I want to know.” William sniffed again and wrinkled his nose. He was sure that even Mary Magdalene would turn her snout up at today's dinner. In truth, it smelled like something the old pig had been rolling in.

The hob was deeply unimpressed by the cold and watery vegetable pottage and burnt bread. William prodded a lump of what might have been turnip and felt his spirits sink. The pottage would barely take the edge off his hunger, and he still had an afternoon of hard work ahead of him. He was sure Brother Martin had deliberately held back the bigger pieces of vegetables and chosen the smallest, most charred hunk of bread out of spite.

“This is very bad,” the hob said, shaking his head and scattering bread crumbs over the table. He brushed them away with the tuft on the end of his tail, and then scowled down at the blackened crust in his paw. He tapped it with a fingernail. It was as hard as stone and sounded hollow. “This does not taste good at all.” He pointed to William's mouth. “And it has made your teeth black.”

“And yours, too,” William said. The hob curled back his lips to reveal black teeth and gums. The hob's tongue was black as well.

“It still tastes better than
this
,” William said, prodding a thick cabbage stalk. It was solid and woody and floated like a drowned slug beneath the surface of the pottage.

The hob dropped the bread back into the basket and wiped the soot off his paws. “Nasty.”

William grimaced. Nasty, indeed. Brother Martin could not have made his dislike for William any plainer if he tried until Judgment Day.

William was scraping the last spoonful from the bottom of his bowl when Brother Snail came to find him. The monk's expression was grim.

“Prior Ardo wants to see you, Will, in the chapter house, right away.” He paused for a moment and peered more closely at William. “What happened to your face?”

William told him briefly. The monk looked horrified.

“We are going to tell Prior Ardo the truth, now, before this gets completely out of hand, and before that woman does you some serious harm. I will also tell him that Shadlok is a fay, and before you say anything, Will, I have Shadlok's permission to do so. Indeed, he will meet us at the chapter house in a few minutes' time. We need to get the prior on our side if we are to have a hope of dealing with this terrible mess.”

“Are you sure this is the best thing to do?” William asked doubtfully.

“It is the
only
thing we can do,” Brother Snail said. “Several of the brethren have asked the prior to turn you away from the abbey, and unless we give the prior a reason not to, I fear that is just what he will do.”

C
HAPTER
NINETEEN

S
hadlok was waiting for them when William and Brother Snail reached the chapter house.

“We are to go straight in,” the monk said. He looked up at Shadlok. “Are you sure about telling the prior what you really are?”

Shadlok's gaze flickered to William briefly. “I am sure.”

Brother Snail nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”

They walked along the short passageway to the inner door of the chapter house. Brother Snail knocked and pushed it open. Prior Ardo was sitting on the stone seat beneath St. Michael's stained-glass feet, the only part of the window left unboarded. He was alone. There was a lantern hanging by the door and a second lantern on the stone seat beside him. In the soft half-light, the prior's face looked haggard and old. He beckoned them forward and stared at William for some moments.

“Do you know what is being said about you?” the prior said, his voice hard, his eyes cold. “That you torment Brother Martin in his sleep? That you are in league with the devil?”

William's mouth was dry. He licked his lips and nodded.

“What have you to say about these accusations?”

“Prior,” Brother Snail began, but Prior Ardo held up a hand to silence him. His eyes never left William's face.

“I want to hear what the boy has to say.”

William cleared his throat. “It's not true, any of it. At least . . . Brother Martin might have dreamed about me, but that wasn't any of my doing.”

“Nevertheless, something unholy is here amongst us, and both Peter and Brother Martin believe it has something to do with you.”

William glanced at Brother Snail. He had no idea where to begin or how much to say. His desperation must have shown in his face because the monk stepped forward and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I will tell you what we should have told you long before now, Prior, and I speak for us all. Will unwittingly released something the day he found the bowl in the side chapel. We believe that it is a fallen angel.”

The prior looked startled but let the monk continue without interruption.

“This creature was worshipped as a god before Christianity came to this land, in a grove that once stood on the site of our church. Only now, with the floods and the collapse of the tower, the fallen one is slowly but surely stirring again. William is entirely innocent in all this. He is no more in league with this demon than you or I.”

A muscle twitched beside the prior's mouth and beads of sweat prickled on his upper lip. He wiped them away with a trembling finger. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke. “And how do you know this?”

The monk hesitated. “Some of it comes from the wise woman with the white crow, Dame Alys. Some of it was told to Shadlok by local people.”

Anger shook through the prior's body. “You have spoken with that . . .
woman
?”

Brother Snail shook his head quickly. “No, Prior. The woman approached Will in the forest this morning.” He took William by the arm and pulled him into the circle of lantern light. “She cut his face. She wanted his blood to offer to the demon.”

A look of revulsion crossed the prior's face as he stared at William. “This will not be tolerated,” he said hoarsely. “The woman is a heretic. She should be tied to a stake and burned to ashes.”

“To kill a weed, you must kill the root. The demon is the root, and we have to find a way to be rid of it,” Brother Snail said. “Then we can decide what to do about Dame Alys.”

Prior Ardo sat in stony-faced silence for a while, then flicked a finger toward William. “Why is the demon so interested in
him
?”

“I believe the fallen angel is drawn to the boy because his soul is pure,” Brother Snail said, “not because he is evil or damned. Do you remember what Abbot Simon said on his deathbed last winter, when Will helped carry him down to the church?”

The prior's face was pallid in the lantern light. “He said the light shines brightly in the boy.” The prior had been paying attention that day, William realized in surprise.

Brother Snail put a hand on William's arm. “I believe the fallen angel wants William's soul. It is trying to turn us against him, but we must not be tricked into believing he is evil.”

The prior stared at William for a long time in silence. At last he nodded. “I believe you are speaking the truth.”

Brother Snail looked relieved.

“But do not call this . . . creature an
angel
,” the prior said, anger snapping in his eyes. “It is a
demon
.”

Brother Snail nodded. “As you wish, Prior.”

The prior turned to look at Shadlok, a look of dislike souring his expression. There was deep suspicion in his eyes.

“You are not human.” It wasn't a question. “I have always known you were . . . different. You are a fay?”

Shadlok inclined his head slightly.

The prior's sharp gaze flicked back to Brother Snail. “You have known his true identity all along?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn't think to tell me?”

The monk said nothing, and that gave the prior his answer. None of them had trusted him enough to tell him the truth, and they had only done so now because they had no other choice.

“Why did you stay at the abbey after Master Bone died?” the prior asked. “Why didn't you return to your own . . . kind?”

Shadlok nodded toward William. “I stay here because of him. I was bound to Jacobus Bone by an ancient curse. The same curse now binds me to the boy.”

“I see,” the prior said on a soft breath. “So that was what Abbot Simon meant, that the boy wouldn't walk his path in life alone. It seems that, somehow, the abbot knew about
you
. Who placed this curse on you?”

“I was cursed by Comnath, the Dark King of the Unseelie Court. I am exiled from my own world, and my fate is bound to that of a human until I die. For now, it is this boy.”

The prior stared at him in silence while he took this in. “Why did the king punish you this way?”

Shadlok's expression hardened. “He had his reasons.”

The prior's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pursue the matter. He turned to Brother Snail and asked in a hard voice, “Is there anything else you haven't told me?”

Brother Snail took the leather-bound history of Crowfield Abbey from the pocket inside his cloak and handed it to the prior. “There is hope we can find out more about the fallen . . . demon, and discover, perchance, a way to protect ourselves from it.”

The prior opened the book and leafed through the pages. He read the hastily written words at the foot of the final page and glanced up at Brother Snail. “What does this mean, the truth is at the saint's foot? Which saint?”

“St. Christopher, Prior. The palm tree is his symbol. Whatever was hidden is not in the chapel, though. We've searched it thoroughly. But there was a statue of St. Christopher on the chancel screen,” Brother Snail explained, “and we're trying to find it.”

“I see,” the prior said, gazing down at the book with a thoughtful frown.

“In the meanwhile, the bowl should be locked away,” Brother Snail said, but the prior didn't let him finish.

“No! Absolutely not.”

“But, Prior, the bowl is at the heart of what is happening here. There were warnings carved into it.”

“About the
demon
, Brother, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the bowl itself, does it?” the prior said sharply.