The Crowfield Demon (2 page)

C
HAPTER
TWO

T
he prior's bony nose was barely a hand's span from William's face.

“He said
what
?”

William swallowed. “He said . . . no.”

Prior Ardo straightened up. His face was white with anger. William expected him to turn in a whirl of black-robed fury and march off to find Shadlok, but the prior remained where he was. Perhaps he realized there was nothing he could do or say to force Shadlok to obey him. Shadlok wasn't a monk or a lay brother, so the prior's authority meant very little to him. He might work as a laborer, but he was no man's servant and the prior knew it.

William saw the uncertainty in the monk's eyes and almost felt sorry for him. The prior did not have the faintest idea why Shadlok had chosen to stay at Crowfield after the death of Jacobus Bone — how could he? He didn't know that his taciturn new laborer was a great and noble fay warrior, or that Shadlok's fate was now tied to William's with bonds of deep magic that could only be broken by death.

“Very well,” Prior Ardo said at last. He stared at William for a couple of moments, his eyes cold and hard. “Take word of what has happened to the church to Sir Robert. Tell him I would deem it a great favor if he would send one of his stonemasons to the abbey to look at the crack in the wall. Be as quick as you can.”

Brother Snail insisted on lending William his old woollen cloak for the journey. They walked to the workshop to fetch it.

“It's good and thick and will keep out the worst of the rain,” Brother Snail said, taking the cloak from a peg near the hut door and handing it to William. It smelled of wood smoke and old dried herbs, and William wrapped it around his shoulders gratefully.

“Go quickly, Will, and be back here before dark. You don't need me to tell you it's not safe to be out in the forest by yourself after sunset.”

It probably wasn't much safer
before
sunset, William thought, but he just nodded. He decided not to mention the mound elves, or what the hob and Shadlok had told him earlier. There was no sense in worrying the monk with talk of some nameless threat, when he had no choice but to do as the prior told him. He would keep to the track and hurry as fast as he could, there and back.

William tied the cloak firmly at the neck and arranged the cowl of his hood over his shoulders. The cloak was shorter on him than it was on Brother Snail, and it stopped just below his knees. But it would keep him warm and dry, something he rarely was these days.

“Just be careful, Will,” Brother Snail added, a trace of anxiety in his voice. He was clearly not happy that William was being sent out from the abbey by himself. “We don't know when the Dark King might decide to come back to the forest, if indeed he ever left.”

There had been no hint or whisper of the Dark King's presence in Foxwist Wood for the last three months, not since the day William and Shadlok had dug up the angel in the Whistling Hollow and released it from the king's spell. But the king was a dangerous enemy. He would never forgive them for freeing Jacobus Bone from the curse he had placed on him many years ago. William knew it was just a matter of time before the king reappeared.

“Don't worry,” William said, sounding more confident than he felt. “I'll be back before dark, if I have to run all the way.”

The monk smiled and patted his shoulder. “Good lad.”

They left the hut, and with a quick wave the monk headed back to the abbey. William cut across the vegetable garden and past the goat-pens to the abbey gateway. He glanced up at the shuttered windows of the two small chambers above the gate passage. They had been empty for years, apart from spiders' webs and nesting starlings, but the chambers were now Shadlok's quarters. William was sure the fay never used them, though where Shadlok went at night, and whether or not he actually slept, William had never discovered.

William let himself out of the abbey by the small wicket gate and crossed the bridge over the river. He was alarmed to see the water lapping over the edge of the timbers. After weeks of rain, the river had broken its banks and flooded the meadows below Foxwist Wood. On the abbey side, the restless brown water had now reached the fence running alongside the vegetable garden. And it was still rising.

The track beyond the bridge was raised up on a causeway built from hard packed gravel and stone, to carry it across the flood-meadow and up to the main Weforde to Yagleah trackway. Nevertheless, a stretch of the causeway close to the river was underwater. William's boots and the feet of his stockings were wet through by the time he splashed his way up to drier ground. He sighed in exasperation as he watched water ooze out from a hole in the toe of one boot. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable walk to Weforde.

The track through the forest was ankle deep in mud, and puddles filled the cart ruts. William kept to the grass along the edge as much as possible. When he reached the rag-hung bushes near the Whistling Hollow, he quickened his pace, as he always did. The memory of searching for the grave of the angel in the Hollow was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. He felt a shiver of fear as he peered into the undergrowth. There was nothing to see or hear, but William sensed something lurking there, among the tangled branches, watching him. He suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable.

William broke into a run and didn't slow down until the track dipped down into a wide glade of oaks and dead bracken, and he could no longer see the bushes with their straggling wet rags. The rain had eased off for now, though the scudding clouds warned that it would only be a brief respite. He pushed back his hood and took deep breaths to steady the wild thump of his heart. Already he was dreading the return journey.

At the eastern edge of the forest, the track sloped down the side of a hill into a wide valley, in the middle of which lay Weforde, surrounded by its three large fields.

The track cut across the West Field. Ruts and holes had been filled in with gravel, and the ground here was drier. The field strips were different shades of green and brown, as the wheat sown last autumn grew between strips of fallow ground. Three young village boys charged up and down the grassy humps of the plow headlands, yelling and laughing as they scared the crows and pigeons from the fields with slingshots. William smiled and remembered when he had done the same thing at home in Iwele. It seemed like a very long time ago now.

Wednesday was market day in Weforde, though it was too early in the year for many traders to be there. The few who were had arrived before dawn, and by now had begun to pack up for the day. Several animal pens put together from wattle hurdles bordered the edge of the green, but the buying and selling of livestock was finished, and the pens were empty.

William liked Weforde market; he loved the bustle and the friendliness of the place. It was the only time he had the chance to mix with ordinary people and talk about everyday things. Best of all, there was always music. The two le Wyt brothers from Yagleah were usually there, playing the recorder and a pair of small drums, while Adam Shirford, the son of Sir Robert's reeve, would play his hurdy-gurdy and sing. People danced to the faster tunes, especially if they had spent a couple of hours in the alehouse first. They clapped along in time with the music or sang the often bawdy songs. William, keenly aware of Brother Gabriel's disapproval of such revelry, never joined in. Sometimes his body ached with the effort of not clapping or stamping to the beat of a lively tune, but he knew he would be punished for such ungodly behavior by Prior Ardo if ever he did so.

Today, someone was playing a flute, but it wasn't Adam or either of the le Wyt brothers. They were good, but this musician was so much better. William crossed the green to join a small crowd and listen for a few minutes. He didn't recognize the song, but the rippling notes set his toes tapping and hands clapping in time. For the past three months, Shadlok had been teaching him to play the flute Jacobus Bone had left him. He had a natural ability, and Shadlok was pleased with his rapid progress. But he had a long way to go before he played with such skill.
If I ever learn to play like this
, William thought,
I will die happy
.

The people in front of William moved, and he caught a glimpse of the musician. William had never seen him before. The youth was maybe a year or two older than he was. His face was thin and freckled, and his greenish-brown eyes were deep-set and shadowed. His hair hung over his shoulders in damp red rats' tails. He finished the tune and smiled at the applause of the people around him. A handful of coins were thrown into the woollen hat at his feet, and the crowd moved away. To William's surprise, the boy did not even glance at the money.

“What were you playing?” William asked, stepping forward. “I've never heard it before.”

The boy grinned at him. “I made it up myself. Did you like it?”

“It was very good,” William said. “
Very
good.” The exciting thought occurred to him that perhaps one day he, too, would be able to make up his own music.

“People always want me to play old familiar tunes, dances and carols they've grown up listening to, but I like to play a song or two of my own.” The boy began to clean the inside of his flute with a rag on the end of a stick and glanced up with a smile. “Can you tell me the way to Yagleah? Someone mentioned that Yagleah is not far from Weforde, and I thought I would try my luck there.”

“That way,” William said, pointing toward the West Field, just visible between the village houses. “Follow the track through the forest and past Crowfield Abbey. It's about two hours' walk.”

It might have been his imagination, but William thought he saw an odd flicker in the boy's eyes when he mentioned the abbey.

“Do you live in Weforde?” the boy asked, putting the flute into a linen bag and pulling the drawstring tight.

William shook his head. “I live at the abbey.”

The boy's smile widened. His face was open and friendly, and William smiled back. It wasn't often he had the chance to speak to someone of his own age.

“So you will be walking home through the forest later?” the boy asked.

“Yes, but I have a message to give to Sir Robert at the manor first.”

“Then maybe we could walk together?” the boy asked hopefully.

“All right, yes,” William said with a quick smile. He did not have to face the journey home alone. It would be very good indeed to have company on the road.

The boy nodded and seemed pleased. “Good. It's always safer to travel in numbers, even if that number is only two. My name is Robin, by the way.”

“I'm William Paynel. Where will I meet you?”

“I will be right here,” Robin said. He tucked the flute into the leather bag by his feet and folded his arms around his thin body. “Take your time. I will wait.”

As William sprinted across the green and along the lane toward the manor house, his spirits soared. It seemed he had made a friend today. What made it even better was that Robin was a musician, and a fine one at that. They shared a common interest, which was a rare thing in his life these days.

C
HAPTER
THREE

T
he village road led up to the gates of Sir Robert's demesne farm. A ditch and thorn hedge enclosed the barns, sheds, and cattle yards. A track led to a timber gatehouse set into a high stone wall. Beyond it stood Sir Robert's manor house.

“Hoi! You!” someone called. William looked around and saw Edmund Maudit, the bailiff of the manor, standing in the doorway of a cart shed. He was a short, stout man whose face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. William had seen him around the village but had never spoken to him. “What are you doing here, boy?”

“I have a message for Sir Robert from Prior Ardo at Crowfield Abbey.”

The bailiff walked over to him. “And what would that message be?”

“The prior wants one of Sir Robert's stonemasons to come and look at the wall of the church. He thinks it's in danger of falling down.”

Master Maudit looked a little startled by this. He wiped his grimy hands on his tunic and rolled down his sleeves. “Well, we'd better go and see what's to be done about that. Come with me and remember your manners in front of Sir Robert.”

William noticed the wary looks from people working around the farm as Master Maudit passed by. It was clear that they had a healthy respect for their bailiff.

“Gate!” Master Maudit yelled as they approached the gatehouse. William heard someone scrabbling around on the other side, and the heavy timber gate swung open. A young boy ducked his head to the bailiff as he strode by, but Master Maudit took no notice of him. Sir Robert's hunting dogs barked wildly as they passed the fenced run beside their kennel, making William jump.

Weforde manor house was a two-story stone building with a tiled roof. There was a garden beside the house, a little maze of low turf walls and wooden archways over which the rambling stems of roses had been twisted and tied in. An ancient mulberry tree grew in the middle of the garden, its sprawling boughs propped up with wooden staves.

William followed the bailiff around the end of the house, past the garden, and through a gateway into a cobbled yard that was surrounded on two sides by the stables, several storerooms, and a barn. The manor house and a large, newly built wing formed the remaining sides of the yard. Glancing back at him, the bailiff said, “Wait here.”

The new building looked very different from the old part of the house. The two upper-floor windows were tall and arched, reminding William of the ones at the abbey. The walls were lighter in color, and the stones were smaller and more carefully shaped. The roof was covered in red, fired clay tiles. It looked odd and out of place against the sturdy old manor house.

There were several men in the yard. William guessed they were the stonemasons. They wore leather aprons, and the tools laid out on trestle tables in an open-fronted shed were not quite like any he had seen before. There was a pile of stone at the far end of the yard and a stack of long, thin timbers nearby. The cobbles were white with stone dust and the puddles looked like spilled milk. The stonemasons took no notice of William but went about their work in silence.