The Crowfield Demon

by Pat Walsh

  “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.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sir Robert drew aside a wall hanging and unlocked the small door hidden behind it. He instructed Master Woodcote to go about his duties and make sure nobody disturbed them, and then asked Brother Snail for help searching through his books and papers to find the ritual his ancestor had used to trap the demon in the bowl.

  William stood in the doorway of the small and windowless room and looked around curiously. The walls were lined with shelves, and a table stood in the middle of the floor. Every surface was crammed with strange implements and vessels whose uses he couldn’t even begin to guess at. Iron tripods and candlesticks and small bronze dishes covered the tabletop. Amongst them were flasks and thin tubes of glass, the like of which he had never seen before. There were glass jars of colored powders and stones and bundles of leaves, and an array of large earthenware pots lined up on the floor. The whitewashed walls between the shelves were covered with words and numbers and strange ciphers, scrawled in charcoal. The air had an unpleasant smell, as if someone had cracked open eggs that had begun to rot. William held his nose.

  Sir Robert took a spindly iron key from the purse hanging from his belt, and unlocked a large cupboard. It was full of books and rolls of parchment. He selected a thick leather-bound book and handed it to the monk.

  “Begin with this one, Brother. It is Ars Notoria, a grimoire of ancient magical knowledge told to King Solomon by an angel many centuries ago. It’s very fragile, so please be careful with it.”

  “What am I searching for?” Brother Snail asked, taking the book with a barely concealed look of distaste.

  “Look for the name of the demon, and it should tell us the sigils by which it may be summoned and controlled.” Sir Robert took two more books from the cupboard. He held one up. “This is Ars Goetia, the book Abbot Bartolomeo gave to my ancestor. It contains the names of many demons and angels. There’s a good chance that Raum may be amongst them.” He patted the cover of the second book. “This is a copy of the Ghayat al-Hakim. It is a book of magic written in the Arab tongue. We should find what we need in at least one of these.”

  “What are sigils?” William asked.

  “Symbols and signs, like the ones carved into the bowl. They have immense power, and if we can find the right ones, we can trap the demon in the bowl again.”

  Brother Snail frowned. “Surely the sigils on the bowl are the ones we are looking for?”

  “They are binding sigils, but first, we have to find the correct summoning sigils,” Sir Robert said briskly. “Make yourself useful, William, and start rolling up the carpets.” He saw William’s blank look and added, “The floor coverings. Then push the furniture up against the walls.”

  Shadlok helped William to clear the middle of the room. Sir Robert and Brother Snail sat at the table by the window to begin their search through the books.

  “This may take some time,” Sir Robert said, frowning down at a page crammed full of writing, numbers, and ciphers. “William, find Master Woodcote and tell him to bring Brother Snail and myself some food and drink. You can eat with the servants in the kitchen.” He glanced up from the book and stared at Shadlok for a moment. “You, as I recall, don’t need to eat at all.”

  As William walked down the staircase, he heard the scrabble of the hob’s feet on the wooden steps behind him.

  “Wait for me!” the hob said breathlessly. William felt a paw grab the hem of his tunic and cling on tightly.

  Shadlok caught up with them in the cross passage between the old house and the new wing.

  “What will happen to you for allowing Sir Robert to go through to your world?” William asked.

  Shadlok smiled bitterly. “I am sure my people will find a suitable punishment for me, something even worse than exiling me here in your world.”

  “Will they kill you?” William asked hesitantly.

  “Sometimes death is not a punishment, it is a blessing.”

  William thought of Jacobus Bone, craving death after centuries of suffering as a leper, and realized that Shadlok was right.

  A cold draft whipped along the cross passage. William shivered and rubbed his arms to warm himself.

  “But will they kill you?” William repeated. He was racked with guilt. Shadlok had agreed to Sir Robert’s demands partly to save William’s life.

  “Eventually, perhaps. If I am lucky,” Shadlok said. He left the house, and the door closed quietly behind him.

  William was pleasantly surprised to find that the manor kitchen was as different from the abbey kitchen as it was possible to be. It was a large stone building set apart from the manor house on the far side of a stone-paved yard. A bread oven was built up against a gable wall, and storerooms and a brewhouse were ranged around the yard. In the middle of the yard there was a well with a thatched roof. Inside the kitchen it was warm and bustling with people, and full of wonderful smells. The servants were cheerful and friendly, and William was welcomed with an easy acceptance.

  “I was told to find Master Woodcote, to ask for some food to be sent up to Sir Robert and Brother Snail,” William explained to the man who seemed to be in charge.

  “We don’t need to trouble Master Woodcote, lad. Best let him go and annoy someone else. Make yourself useful and stir this sauce, and don’t let it burn. Sir Robert’s dinner will be ready soon enough.”

  A little while later, a serving boy carried a tray of food up to Sir Robert’s chamber. William sat on one of the benches at the kitchen table with Master Brice the cook and the other servants, eating a meal of pottage, thick and tasty with barley and vegetables, and freshly baked bread. The hob sat under the table, and William managed to slip him bits of food without anybody noticing. By the time he had cleared his bowl for a second time, William’s stomach felt as if it were about to burst, and he surprised himself by regretfully turning down a third helping.

  “You need fattening up, lad. The holy brothers don’t feed you pro
perly, by the looks of it,” Master Brice said, inspecting him with a frown.

  “It’s Lent,” William said, not wanting to try and explain Brother Martin to the people in the manor kitchen. “The monks are fasting.”

  “Aye, well, we all are, but there’s a line to draw between fasting and starving.” The cook chewed a mouthful of bread and gazed at William with open curiosity. “So what brings you here with the monk and the leper’s manservant?”

  William glanced at the ring of interested faces around the table and felt awkward. “Brother Snail has abbey matters to discuss with Sir Robert.”

  “We heard the church fell down,” one of the other servants said, leaning forward to look along the table at him, “and that the abbey’s haunted by a demon that can conjure up a storm.” A murmur went around the table at this. The stonemasons had wasted no time in spreading the word far and wide of what had happened at Crowfield, it seemed.

  “The tower collapsed,” William said, “not the whole church. The monks have gone to one of their granges for now.”

  “But what about the demon?” the servant asked, clearly relishing the tales being told around the village and manor.

  “I heard it ate one of the monks,” another man said. “Chewed him right up and spat out the bones.”

  “It didn’t . . . ,” William began, but the man wasn’t listening. He clearly preferred his own version of events, regardless of whether or not it was actually true.

  “And that the stones of the abbey are burned black from the demon’s fiery breath,” the man continued with horrified glee, “and that it carried off a whole field full of sheep.”

  “No,” William tried to get a word in sideways, but gave it up under the storm of wild rumors and stories flying around the table.

  “We heard they found the Holy Grail in the church,” Master Brice said, mopping up the last of his pottage with a piece of bread.

  “It’s just a wooden bowl,” William said, half expecting to be shouted down again. “It’s not the Grail.”

  But nobody was listening to him. He sighed and folded his arms on the table and sat quietly until the meal was finished and the servants went back to their work. With great reluctance, William decided he ought to return to Sir Robert’s private chambers. He took a last, longing look around the busy kitchen. He wished with all his heart that Father Edric, the priest in Iwele, had thought to find a home for him somewhere like this, and not in the abbey.

  “Thank you for the food,” William said, nodding to Master Brice. He couldn’t imagine the cook beating someone because they broke a jug.

  Master Brice smiled back. “You’re welcome, lad.”

  William felt the hob brush past him as he left the kitchen.

  “The food here is much, much better than the brother man’s cooking,” the hob whispered as they crossed the yard to the manor house. “There were no burnty bits or fish heads, and it did not smell like the inside of the goat-pen.”

  “Well, don’t get too used to it. We’ll be suffering Brother Martin’s food again soon enough.”

  William stood by the manor house door for a moment. He knew he should go back up and see if Brother Snail and Sir Robert had found anything of use in the books, but the lure of spending a few minutes in the mild spring sunshine was too great. He glanced around the yard to make sure nobody was watching, and then walked quickly over to the gateway of Sir Robert’s garden. Behind him, he heard the hob’s claws tapping on the cobbles.

  Gravel paths between low turf walls led to the center of the garden, where an old mulberry tree grew. The garden was bare and dressed in winter browns and grays, but small green buds on the twisting stems of the rose bushes were flushed with red and ready to unfurl. There was a feeling of peace here that William liked. In summer, when the roses were in flower and the turf walls had greened up, the garden would be hidden from the courtyard. He sat on a bench and closed his eyes. The hob climbed up to sit beside him. They sat in companionable silence, and William felt a rare contentment. His belly was full of good food, and the sun was warm on his face. For those few minutes it was almost easy to forget about the demon and what lay ahead.

  He jumped and opened his eyes when a shadow fell across his face. It was Shadlok. He hadn’t heard the fay approach.

  “Brother Snail and Sir Robert have found what they were looking for,” Shadlok said. “Sir Robert is ready to begin the summoning.”

  William stood up. The enormity of what they were about to do hit him, and he suddenly felt very afraid. “Is it going to work?” he asked.

  “We will find out soon enough.” Shadlok waved a hand and the hob reappeared, sitting on the bench. Shadlok crouched down in front of him. “You will be safer in the stable. Wait there until this is all over.”

  “But I want to stay with you,” the hob said anxiously, looking from the fay to William.

  “No,” Shadlok said firmly. “We will come and fetch you later, but for now you must stay hidden in the stable. It is for your own good,” he added gently.

  Reluctantly, the hob nodded. He reached out and patted Shadlok’s cheek. The fay looked startled and quickly got to his feet, clearly thrown by the tender gesture. William had the feeling there had been precious little softness of any kind in the fay’s long life, and he felt an odd little stir of pity.

  “Look after Matilda,” William said, leaning down to put a hand on the hob’s shoulder.

  The hob nodded again and climbed down from the bench. The air around him shimmered briefly, and he was gone. William heard him patter away, his feet crunching on the gravel.

  “You can go with him,” Shadlok said. “You do not need to be here for what is to come.”

  William took a few deep breaths to try and steady the wild beating of his heart. He had never felt fear like this before, but he shook his head. “No, we’re all in this together.”

  William clenched his fists and jaw to stop them trembling and followed Shadlok back through the garden. God help us all, he thought, because we are going to need it.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sir Robert had closed the window shutters. Lanterns and candles placed around the chamber formed a circle of light. Shadlok closed and barred the door. William stood beside Brother Snail near the fireplace.

  “Something has been troubling me,” Sir Robert began.

  “What is it?” Brother Snail said.

  “From what you have told me, the demon has almost severed the ties binding it to the bowl. It is, to all intents and purposes, already free.”

  “So it would seem,” the monk agreed.

  “Then where is it? Why hasn’t it tried to stop us?” Sir Robert said. “It is almost as if it is letting us summon it.”

  “I fear you may be right.” Brother Snail sounded worried. “The demon followed us through the forest, but it made no attempt to stop us from bringing the bowl to you. Perhaps we should abandon the summoning.”

  “If we do that, we are letting go of our only chance to imprison it again,” Sir Robert said.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” William asked.

  Sir Robert said nothing.

  “We have no choice but to continue,” Shadlok said.

  Sir Robert nodded. “I agree. Brother Snail? Are you with us on this?”

  The monk put a hand on the wall to steady himself and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “In all conscience, I cannot say I am.”

  “William?” Sir Robert said. “What do you think?”

  With an apologetic glance at Brother Snail, William nodded. “We have to try.”

  “I’m sorry, Brother,” Sir Robert said gently, “it’s three against one.”

  “Very well,” Brother Snail whispered. “Do what you have to do.”

  They watched from beside the fireplace as Sir Robert carefully drew two circles on the floorboards, one inside the other, with a lump of chalk. He murmured words that sounded strange to William’s ears. Brother Snail lowered himself awkwardly to h
is knees. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands so tightly that the knuckles and joints were white, and he started to pray.

  When Sir Robert finished drawing the circles, he placed the bowl on the floor between the two. He straightened up and turned to the others. His face was pale and tense. A muscle twitched below one eye, so it seemed as if he was winking at them. William might have found it funny if he wasn’t feeling sick with fear.

  “I will cast a circle of protection around me when I am ready to begin the summoning. You are welcome to stand inside it with me,” Sir Robert said.

  “Will we be safe if we stay outside the circle?” Shadlok asked.

  Sir Robert nodded to the circle he had already cast. “The demon will be imprisoned in there, so yes, I believe you should be. But you must remain still and silent throughout, not a word or so much as a movement of the head. Is that understood?”

  William wondered if shaking with terror counted, but he just nodded.

  Sir Robert hesitated for several moments. He appeared calm and in control, but William saw the apprehension in his eyes. “I would have preferred it if I’d had time to prepare for this properly. There are certain rituals and observances that should be made before a summoning of this nature. And it would have been better to wait until the full of the moon. As it is, the moon is waning, and that is not a good time to attempt work such as this.”

  “Even so, we must do this now,” Shadlok insisted.

  Sir Robert nodded. “I know. But there is one other thing . . .”

  Shadlok folded his arms and regarded the man coldly. “What?”

  Sir Robert glanced down at the bowl, then looked at William. “To complete the ritual, I need the blood of an innocent. It is what the creature craves to make it strong and will draw the demon to us more surely than anything else.”

  Brother Snail recoiled in horror and struggled to his feet. He understood immediately what the man was saying. “No! No! You will not touch the boy!”

  “I need only a few drops,” Sir Robert said quickly. “His blood is necessary for the summoning to work.”