The Crowfield Demon (8 page)

A small supper had been left on the table for him. There was a piece of bread and a shriveled apple and half a cup of small beer: not nearly enough food to fill his belly after a hard day's work in the garden, but better than nothing. He sat by the hearth to eat it. He warmed the beer with a hot poker and sipped it slowly.

Later, as he huddled on his mattress, wrapped in his blanket, he tried hard not to think about the fallen angel. It was one thing talking to Shadlok about it out in the full light of day, but now, when darkness seemed to ooze from the stone walls and prowl around his bed, he felt very alone and defenseless. He pulled the blanket up to his ears and wished the hob was with him, fidgeting and snoring, a warm and solid little presence.

As he tried to settle more comfortably, he felt the holey stone dig into his chest. He took it off and hid it under his mattress. Nothing on earth would persuade him to look through the hole tonight.

C
HAPTER
TEN

W
illiam woke with a start. A deep, earth-trembling rumble shook the kitchen. Pots rattled against each other, knives and ladles clattered on their hooks, and the pile of fire logs collapsed and rolled across the floor. William's heart pounded as he pushed aside his blanket and clambered to his feet. His sleepy mind struggled to make sense of the terrible thunder of falling stone and timbers and the wild clang of bells. The sound shook the air and juddered through his bones.

It's the tower
, he thought, flinching in terror and half expecting the kitchen to come crashing down around him. He felt his way to the door, stubbing his foot painfully against a log on the way. Outside, the gray light of dawn showed between the arches of the cloister alley. A misty drizzle was falling, and there was a gritty feel to the air. A dead silence hung over the abbey, though the echo of the tower's fall still hummed inside his head.

William ran across the cloister garth to the archway into the north alley. The monks were hurrying down the day stairs from their beds in the dorter, almost falling over each other in their panic. Peter stood nearby, his hair sticking up in untidy brown tufts, wringing his hands together and moaning, “God a'mercy,” over and over again.

The south door of the church had been wrenched off its hinges and lay under a pile of rubble. Brother Mark's writing desk had fallen on its side and the broken remains of his stool stuck out from beneath a heap of stones. The statues from the church were lined up along the alley wall, a crowd of pale ghosts beneath a thick coating of stone dust.

William felt a flutter of panic in his chest. Where was the hob? Had Brother Walter been anywhere near the church when the tower had come down? Or was he hiding away, terrified but unharmed?

Prior Ardo was suddenly there, white-faced with shock, taking charge. “Brother Gabriel, go and see if the chapter house has been damaged. Brother Stephen and Peter, see to the animals. The noise will have frightened them. Make sure that they are all right.”

Peter and Brother Stephen set off along the passageway beside the chapter house, but returned a few moments later.

“The passage is blocked, Prior,” Brother Stephen said. “The roof has fallen in at the far end.”

The prior's jaw tightened. “Go the long way around.”

Brother Stephen nodded for Peter to follow him, and they set off across the cloister garth, heading for the kitchen and the door out to the yard and animal pens.

Brother Gabriel picked his way through the litter of stones to the chapter house door. He opened it and peered inside. The short passageway leading to the main chamber was cloudy with stone dust. Moving cautiously, the monk went in. He was gone for a minute or so and looked visibly shaken when he came back.

“Most of the stained glass in the window is broken, Prior,” he said, “and there's a hole in the roof, a very
big
hole, and stones everywhere.”

William stared at the prior. A muscle twitched beside the monk's mouth as he took all this in.

“The church, Prior,” Brother Snail said anxiously. “We have to see what damage has been done there.”

Prior Ardo nodded, and when he spoke his voice was carefully calm. “Come with me, Brother.” He looked at the rest of the monks. “Everybody else, wait here.”

The prior and Brother Snail covered their faces with the sleeves of their habits and stepped through the dark arch of the church doorway. Stone dust swirled out from the church on the damp air, looking like billowing smoke. The rest of the monks walked past the small crowd of statues to the far end of the north alley, away from the dust and debris, and started to pray, heads bowed and eyes closed. Brother Mark didn't go with them. He stood beside his desk, muttering, “My books, all my pages, my work.” He turned to stare at the sacristy door, which was hanging by one hinge, then started to clamber over the rubble toward it.

The back of William's neck prickled. A sudden premonition of danger burned him like hot metal. “Don't!” he called sharply as Brother Mark reached for the heavy ring handle. “Don't touch the door!”

“I have to save the books,” the monk said, glancing back at William, his dust-streaked face distraught.

William darted forward, one hand reaching out to grab the monk's habit, but he wasn't quick enough. Brother Mark gripped the door handle with both hands and pulled hard. With a wrench of splitting wood, the second hinge gave way and the door fell forward, crashing onto the rubble and trapping the monk beneath it.

William tried to haul the door aside, but it was solid oak studded with large iron nails and too heavy for him to move by himself.

“Help!” he yelled desperately. “Quickly! Help me!”

He could see Brother Mark's right hand protruding from beneath the door. The fingers twitched and clutched at the air, and then went still. William heaved and pushed at the door. It shifted slightly, grating against the rubble on the floor beneath it.

The monks, hearing the commotion, came running to see what the matter was. Brother Gabriel rushed forward to try and help. William stumbled as Shadlok elbowed him aside. Brother Gabriel stepped hastily out of the way as the fay leaned down and hooked his fingers under the door. He lifted it easily and pushed it away from Brother Mark. It slammed to the floor, sending up a choking cloud of dust.

With an anguished wail, Brother Gabriel dropped to his knees beside the fallen monk. William stared down in horror at Brother Mark's bloodied face.

Shadlok knelt down and put his fingers on the side of the monk's neck. “He is still alive.” He glanced at the shocked faces above him. “Fetch the prior,” he said, giving William a push toward the church door.

William did as he was told, stopping briefly in the doorway to look back. By now the other monks were crowding around to lift Brother Mark from the rubble.

William climbed over the fallen stones in the south aisle. He stared around in shocked disbelief at the scene of devastation in the church. A huge hole in the recently repaired nave roof let in the dusty daylight and rain. More light came through a gaping hole in the roof of the south transept. Where the tower should have been, there was just gray sky. The beautifully carved chancel screen lay smashed to rubble under a pile of stones and broken timbers. William could see one of the bells, still attached to a part of the bell frame, lying on the nave floor. The choir stalls were badly damaged and a flow of stones filled the south transept. Part of the cracked north wall of the chancel had come down, too, but as far as he could see, St. Christopher's chapel had not been damaged.

Something white swooped through the hole in the roof and settled on a heap of rubble in front of William. It was Fionn, Dame Alys's crow. It strutted sideways along the stones and turned its head to fix William with its fierce stare. William looked around. He knew that if Fionn was here, the woman wouldn't be too far away, and sure enough, he saw her standing just beyond the floodwater outside the hole in the chancel wall. Her hands were folded over the top of her walking stick, and there was a look of triumph on her face.

Fionn cawed harshly and lifted into the air. He wheeled away through the church and glided in a low swoop past the old woman. She turned to follow him, giving William a smile that chilled him to the bone. On impulse, he snatched up a stone and flung it after her. Anger speared through him. How could she take pleasure from such devastation? Did she really hate the monks that much?

Two figures moved through the gloom like ghosts.

“Prior Ardo!” William called as he scrambled over the stones toward them. “Come quickly. There's been an accident. Brother Mark is badly hurt.”

The two monks stopped and turned.

“What are you talking about, boy?” the prior said harshly. “I saw him just minutes ago and he was perfectly well then.”

“The sacristy door fell on him.”

“Oh, dear God!” Brother Snail said softly, crossing himself with a shaking hand.

The prior clambered over the pile of rubble in the crossing, not seeming to care where he put his feet. Stones slid and rattled away, and the prior slipped a couple of times, but he didn't slow down. He didn't even glance at William as he ran for the church door. His face and habit were streaked with dust. The grit-sharp air eddied around him as he passed by. It caught in William's throat, making him cough.

Brother Snail followed more cautiously, edging around the rubble. William waited for him. The monk was wheezing and breathless when he reached William's side.

“How badly is he hurt, Will? Is he conscious?”

William shook his head. “No.”

Together they left the church. Brother Mark had been taken up to the dorter and put to bed. Brother Snail scurried up the day stairs to tend to him. There was nothing William could do to help, so he went back to the kitchen. He raked out the embers and relit the fire, then went to fetch water from the well in the yard. He broke the news of Brother Mark's accident to Peter and Brother Stephen. The monk said nothing, but stood tight-lipped and gray-faced, a pail of water in one hand, staring up at the ruined roofline of the abbey church. Peter started to wail in anguish. Tears slid down his face into his open mouth. He twisted his fingers together against his chest as if William's words had physically hurt him. William walked away in heavyhearted silence.

As soon as mass was over, Prior Ardo and Brother Gabriel set out for Weforde to speak to Sir Robert, taking Peter with them. Before he left, the prior told the rest of the monks to go about their daily work as best they could while praying for Brother Mark. Shadlok and William were given the task of clearing the fallen stones and glass from the chapter house. The monks would hold all their services and masses in there until the church could be used again.

The chapter house had been spared the terrible destruction that the church had suffered, but even so, William was shocked by the damage to the chamber. There was a hole in the roof where several massive blocks of stone had crashed through it. Bits of shattered tile stuck up from the floor like broken teeth. Several of the graveslabs of Crowfield's long-dead abbots were chipped and webbed with cracks. The stained-glass window in the east wall looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it. Many of the small panes were shattered, and the lead cames that had held them together were twisted and broken. There was very little glass on the floor, so William guessed most of it was outside in the graveyard. All that was left of the Archangel Michael were his legs and part of one wing. Curiously, the dragon at his feet was mostly intact.

Shadlok rolled up his sleeves and tied back his hair. He lifted a huge ashlar block that would have taken two brawny men all their strength to shift, and set it down on the pile of stones and rubble in the middle of the room.

“I'll fetch the handcart so we can take the stones out to the yard,” William said.

“Bring a pail, too,” Shadlok said, “to put the glass in. Some of it might be reusable.”

William nodded. He looked around to make sure they were not being overheard and added, “Have you seen the hob today? I'm worried that he might have been in the church when the tower fell.”

Shadlok frowned. “No. I thought he stayed in the kitchen with you at night?”

“He does sometimes, but he didn't last night. I'll go to the workshop and see if he's there before I fetch the cart.”

“Very well, but be quick.” The fay's face was set. William knew he did not like being this close to the side chapel.

William ran all the way to the workshop. He pushed open the door and peered inside.

“Brother Walter? Are you there?”

There was no reply. William tried to ignore the fear twisting in his stomach. What if the hob was lying beneath the rubble in the church? William ran back to the abbey to search for the hob there. He collided with Brother Stephen as he came around the corner of the south range.

“Ouf! Watch where you're going,” the monk said sharply, grabbing William's arm to steady himself. “I thought you were supposed to be clearing the chapter house with Shadlok?”