The Crowfield Demon (24 page)

“No, and you would be reckless to try. The guardian is there for a reason.”

The hob looked over his shoulder at William and made a face. “She will crunch your bones and suck out your eyes . . .”

“Yes, thank you,” William said hurriedly, “there's no need for details.”

“I never realized magic was so common in this world,” Brother Snail said, then added, “or so dangerous.”

Shadlok shrugged. “It is everywhere, if you know what you are looking for.”

They reached the track and followed it through the fields and into the village. Shadlok again hid the hob from sight and told him to remain quiet. People stopped to watch them go by, the monk on horseback, the servant boy, and the armed man with the white hair and strange eyes. The villagers whispered to each other, and William saw several people cross themselves.
Word of what had happened at the abbey must have reached the village
, he thought. The stonemasons' sudden return probably caused a stir, and by now stories of ghosts and demons were running like wildfire through Weforde and the surrounding farms.

The gates of the demesne farm stood open. Edmund Maudit, the bailiff, was talking to a group of villeins outside one of the manor's barns. He broke off when he saw the visitors from Crowfield, and walked over to ask what it was that brought them to the village.

“We've come to talk to Sir Robert,” Brother Snail said, “on abbey business.”

“And what might this business be?” the bailiff asked suspiciously.

“That is between the abbey and Sir Robert,” Brother Snail said firmly. “Kindly let him know we are here on a matter of great urgency.”

Master Maudit's annoyance was plain, but he knew he could hardly question the monk any further. “Follow me, then,” he said gruffly, and stumped away toward the manor gatehouse.

The villeins drew into a huddle and watched uneasily as they passed by. One of them whispered something to his neighbor, and William thought he caught the word
demon
.

“Anyone would think
we
were the demons, the way people are looking at us,” William muttered. He was feeling cold and uncomfortable; the chill from the bowl was eating its way into his bones and he had lost all feeling in the hand holding the bag.

“They can sense the evil,” Shadlok said, keeping his voice low. “It is growing stronger with the passing hours.”

William rubbed his arm with his free hand, trying to get the blood moving again. He looked over his shoulder and saw a huddle of women peering at him from the doorway of the brewhouse. They quickly ducked back inside.

Master Maudit led them across the courtyard in front of the manor house and through the gateway into the inner yard. Several of the stonemasons were going about their work, and the sound of chisels and hammers ringing on stone came from the new wing of the manor house. William recognized a couple of the men and nodded to them. Glancing at each other, they turned their backs on him. One of them hurried away, presumably to tell Master Guillaume of the new and not very welcome arrivals.

The bailiff watched while Shadlok helped Brother Snail down from the saddle. William felt the hob climb onto his shoulder and wrap his arms around his neck. The hob kept very still, and all William could hear was soft breathing against his ear.

“Wait here,” Master Maudit said. He walked over to the door of the manor house and went inside.

“I don't think the stonemasons were best pleased to see us,” Brother Snail said, rubbing his knees and bending his legs as he tried to ease his aching body after the long ride. “Nor the villagers.”

The hob patted William's cheek. “I want to get down now. The bowl is making my skin scrittle.” He dug his fingers into William's hair and scrabbled at his scalp. “Scrittle
scrittle
, like this. Not good.”

“No” — William jerked his head aside — “not good, so stop it.” He helped the hob down onto the cobbles.

“It is not safe to make you visible yet,” Shadlok said, “so you must stay close to us at all times.”

“I will,” the hob said from somewhere over near Brother Snail's feet.

“And don't touch anything,” William added with a meaningful stare at the empty cobbles.

Master Maudit appeared in the doorway. “Sir Robert will see you. Leave your horse over by the stable and follow me.”

Shadlok led Matilda over to the stable on the far side of the yard and tied her reins to an iron hook in the wall. Brother Snail and William waited for him by the manor door, and together they went up the stairs to Sir Robert's private quarters.

Brother Snail paused outside the door for a moment and turned to look from Shadlok to William. He smiled, but there was no disguising his apprehension at what they were about to do. William nodded and forced a smile in return. There was no need for words.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

S
ir Robert sat at a table with his back to one of the two-light windows set into the thick walls. Beside him stood a short bald man, well dressed and fond of his food, to judge by the heavy jowls and rounded belly beneath his fine blue woollen tunic.

“This is Master Henry Woodcote, my steward,” Sir Robert said, with a nod in the plump man's direction.

The steward glanced at Shadlok. Shadlok might have lived as a guest in the manor house for a few weeks last winter, but it was plain there was no friendship wasted between these two. But Master Woodcote smiled at Brother Snail: The fleshy cheeks dimpled, though the grin didn't reach his eyes. They were cold and calculating as he took the measure of the crippled monk.

Sir Robert glanced at William. “Fetch a chair for Brother Snail, boy.”

William looked around and spotted a carved and gilded chair to one side of the huge stone fireplace. He carried it over to the table and set it down for the grateful monk.

“You have matters you wish to discuss with me?” Sir Robert asked. He leaned his elbows on the table and linked his fingers together. His sharp gray eyes were alight with curiosity.

“Of grave importance,” Brother Snail said. “To do with the recent . . . events at the abbey.”

Sir Robert nodded. “Master Guillaume told me a little of what has been happening there.” He gestured to his steward with a flick of his hand. “You can speak freely in front of Master Woodcote.”

The two men listened as Brother Snail explained why they had come to Weforde. The monk took the leather bag from William and unwrapped the bowl. He stood it on the table. Sir Robert reached for the bowl, but before his fingers touched it, he hesitated and withdrew his hand.

When Brother Snail had finished, Sir Robert sat in silence, one finger tapping the table absently. William glanced at Master Woodcote. The steward was staring at the bowl nervously. It had grown noticeably colder in the room, but in spite of this there was a sheen of sweat on the man's face.

“Did you bring Abbot Bartolomeo's letter with you?” Sir Robert asked at last.

“Yes,” Brother Snail said, pulling the folded parchment from his cloak pocket. He handed it to Sir Robert and waited while the lord of the manor read it through.

“You are hoping I might be able to trap the demon in the bowl, just as my ancestor did a hundred years ago?” Sir Robert said.

Brother Snail nodded. “It is a lot to ask, but we are desperate.”

Sir Robert looked up at Shadlok, who was standing silent and still beside the monk's chair. “It was you, I assume, who told the prior and Brother Snail here that I practice alchemy?”

Shadlok nodded. “I had little choice. They cannot fight the demon alone.”

“I asked for
your
help last winter,” Sir Robert said, quietly angry, “but you refused. Now you come here to ask for
my
help. That is hardly fair, I think.”

Shadlok gave Sir Robert a look that would have made most people think twice about pushing the matter further. William felt a grudging admiration for the lord of Weforde when he merely stared back at the fay, a determined gleam in his eyes.

“If I do this, then I expect you to help me in return.” Sir Robert spoke directly to Shadlok. Whatever was happening here, William realized, was between these two and nobody else. Brother Snail was forgotten for the time being.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then” — Sir Robert sighed and spread his hands in a gesture of apparent regret — “the fate of the monks will be on your conscience.”

Shadlok closed his eyes for a moment. The fay had been backed into a corner, just as he had feared he would be.

“Please” — Brother Snail sat forward in the chair and rested one thin hand on the table — “can you not find it in your heart to help us without asking Shadlok to pay the price for that aid? I don't know what it is you want from him, but it is clear to me that he doesn't wish you to have it.”

Sir Robert turned to the monk, but his expression didn't soften. “Ridding you of a demon isn't just a matter of snapping my fingers, Brother. It will be difficult and dangerous, and it might not even succeed. All I want is fair payment for my trouble, and the fay has the one thing I want.”

“But what
is
it?” Brother Snail looked from Sir Robert to Shadlok, baffled and anxious. “What can Shadlok possibly possess that is worth more than the abbey and all those who live there?”

“He can tell me how to find the Unseelie Court. I want him to open the gateway between his world and this one.” He paused for a moment. “I want to meet King Comnath.”

Brother Snail stared at Sir Robert as if he hadn't quite understood what the man had just said. Shadlok turned away. He folded his arms and stared out the window. The thick panes of glass distorted the view. The village and the fields and woodland beyond it wavered and twisted into a landscape from a dream. There was a look of defeat in the fay's eyes that William had never seen before, and he felt an overwhelming pity for him.

“The Dark King?” Brother Snail asked uncertainly. “Why in God's name would you want anything to do with that . . .
creature
?”

“When Jacobus Bone came here last winter, he told me he had been cursed with immortality by a king of the Unseelie Court,” Sir Robert said. “I have studied and practiced alchemy since I was a boy no older than your servant here. I have searched for that one secret without success, but now, at last, with the help of this fay, the gift of eternal life could be within my grasp.”

“Such a thing is against God,” Brother Snail said, appalled. “It is blasphemy! You will forfeit your soul.”

Sir Robert sat forward and smiled. “Don't you understand, Brother? None of that will matter because I will never die.”

“May God forgive you,” the monk whispered. He twisted his body in the chair to look up at Shadlok. “Do you intend to show him how to reach your world?”

“If I do not, he will not help us.” He glanced at William. “And the demon will come after the boy. What choice do I have?”

William cleared his throat and stepped out from behind Brother Snail's chair. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but what makes you think the Unseelie King will help you?”

Sir Robert stared at William in thoughtful silence for a few moments. He seemed to consider the question. “What makes you think he won't?”

William glanced anxiously at Shadlok.
How much should I say
? he wondered, and then decided the time for keeping secrets had long since gone.

“I've met him,” William said. He had Sir Robert's full attention now. “He's cunning and cruel and he hates humans. He won't help you.”

Sir Robert sat back in his chair. “Perhaps I can offer him something of value in return for the gift of immortality. Everyone has their price.”

William felt a stirring of foreboding. It seemed Brother Snail shared his feelings.

“What have you got that he could possibly want?” the monk asked.

Sir Robert's face became carefully expressionless. “I am sure I will find something.” His gaze flickered to William. The gray eyes were as hard as stone. There was a sick feeling in William's stomach as he realized what Sir Robert was hinting at. Beside him, he heard Brother Snail gasp. The monk leaned forward and put a thin hand on the table.

“You would offer the
boy
to the Dark King to get your own way? May God forgive you for even
thinking
such a thing.”

Shadlok leaned his hands on the table and put his face close to Sir Robert's. “Harm the boy, and I swear I will kill you.”

Sir Robert looked startled and sat back in his chair, but his gaze was steady. “His life is in your hands, fay. The choice is yours.”

Shadlok straightened up. “I will give you what you want. Bind the demon again.”