The Crowfield Demon

by Pat Walsh

  William put a hand to the scratches on his face. “Dame Alys took some of my blood yesterday.”

  “I take it you didn’t give it to her of your own free will?” Sir Robert asked sharply.

  William shook his head.

  “That’s something, at least. If she means to summon the demon, then your blood will be of limited use to her if it wasn’t given freely.”

  “If you do this, then you are no better than Dame Alys and her ancestors,” Brother Snail said softly, a look of disgust on his face.

  “You came to me for help,” Sir Robert reminded him coldly. “You can take it or leave it, the choice is yours.”

  “Is there no other way to do the ritual?” William asked.

  “We can do it without the blood offering, but I can’t be certain it will work.”

  William glanced at Brother Snail. “The blood is mine, so the choice is mine, too.” He held his arm out to Sir Robert. “Do it.”

  “Will!” Brother Snail sounded shocked. “Think what you are doing!”

  “I have,” William said.

  Without a word, Shadlok stepped forward and took his knife from its sheath. He held William’s wrist and drew the point of the blade across his palm. There was a sting of pain, and blood welled from the cut. Sir Robert picked up the cursed bowl and hurried forward. Shadlok turned William’s hand to allow drops of blood to fall into the bowl, where they gleamed wetly against the dark wood. Shadlok sheathed his knife and let go of William’s arm. Sir Robert returned the bowl to the edge of the chalk circle. Brother Snail knelt again, his eyes gleaming with tears.

  William squeezed his hand into a fist. He could feel the blood in his palm. He ignored the ache from the cut and watched as the ritual began.

  Sir Robert took one of the books from the table. He opened it at a particular page and put the book on the floor in front of him. He squatted down and began to draw around himself with the lump of chalk.

  With infinite care, he copied the drawing of a circle from the book onto the floorboards. He quartered it with straight lines, and then quartered it again. He drew complicated sigils around the inner curve of the circle and between the lines, and then added words, until at last it was complete. He picked up the book and got to his feet. Taking several deep breaths, he squared his shoulders and slowly began to read the words of magic out loud.

  To William, the words were just sounds without any meaning, but he felt their power humming in the air around the chamber. He glanced down at Brother Snail. The monk’s lips moved in silent, desperate prayer. Beside him, Shadlok looked as if he had been carved from stone.

  Sir Robert’s voice rose as the words gathered strength. The chalk markings around him started to glimmer with a pale and eerie glow. The demon’s circles scorched the floorboards, and the air within them wavered like a heat haze. There was an acrid smell of burnt wood, mingled with the sickly sweet stench of decay, which caught in the back of William’s throat and made him gag. A dark red form glimmered into view and gradually took shape.

  William could barely breathe, and his body was rigid with fear. He grabbed Shadlok’s arm and held tightly. At first, all he could see of the demon were crimson-feathered wings, which wrapped its body from head to foot. Sir Robert’s face shone with sweat. His voice took on a husky tremble, but he didn’t falter, even when the wings slowly started to unfurl. They spread to the very edge of the inner circle, and for the first time William saw the demon clearly. Forgetting Sir Robert’s instruction not to move, he sank to his knees beside Brother Snail.

  Raum, the fallen angel and demon, was surrounded by a deep red glow. Like the light of hell, William thought. The demon had the head of a crow, though the feathers were crimson rather than black, and it wore a long, dark red robe. As far as William could see, it had the body and limbs of a human, and its skin was a dusky red.

  Sir Robert pointed to the bloodstained bowl. His voice rose and it held an unmistakable note of command. Brilliant white sparks of light crackled inside his protective circle. Several touched his skin, and he flinched as they burned him. The demon turned its head to look at him with one dark, unblinking eye.

  William jumped when Brother Snail clutched his arm. “It isn’t working!” the monk whispered, panic-stricken.

  William fought to stay calm. Sir Robert’s voice rose to a shout as he tried to force the demon to obey him. His skin had taken on a gray tinge now, and his eyes were wide and bulging with terror. William realized Brother Snail was right; the ancient words were not working. Their magic was strong, but not nearly strong enough.

  And then the demon spread its wings wide so that they crossed the barrier of the circle as if it simply wasn’t there. William fell back against the wall and stared in revulsion as the demon reached down and dipped its fingertips in the blood in the bottom of the bowl. It opened its beak and wiped its fingers on its tongue, tasting the blood. It held a hand over the bowl and white light speared out from its palm. A moment later, all that was left of the bowl was a small pile of ash.

  The demon was free.

  The words of power died on Sir Robert’s lips, and he cowered as the demon stepped out of the circle. The chalk circle around Sir Robert no longer glowed. The demon put out a foot and, slowly and deliberately, rubbed out one of the protective sigils. Sir Robert moaned softly and hid his face in his hands. The demon stretched out a finger and leaned down to touch the man on the forehead. Sir Robert fell forward with a gurgling sound in his throat and lay there, half in and half out of the circle.

  The demon turned its head and looked at William and the others.

  “Run!” Shadlok yelled, hauling William and Brother Snail to their feet and shoving them toward the door. “Go! As fast as you can! I will cover you.”

  William grabbed the monk and dragged him to the doorway. He was beyond coherent thought, beyond fear. His desperation to escape gave his body the strength it needed to get Brother Snail out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the yard, where they collapsed into a heap on the cobbles. William rolled onto his back, barely noticing the puddles and mud soaking into his clothes and hair. Tears slid down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes tightly.

  “Where’s Sir Robert?” someone demanded sharply. William recognized Master Woodcote’s voice and he winced as the steward kicked his leg. “Answer me, boy! Where is he?”

  “It didn’t work,” William rasped. “We failed. I think Sir Robert is dead.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  William sat up. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked around for Brother Snail. The monk was lying in a puddle nearby. William leaned over and shook his shoulder. “Brother Snail? Are you all right?”

  The monk moaned softly. William knelt over him anxiously.

  “What have we done, Will?” Brother Snail whispered. Mud streaked his face, and his habit was wet with puddle water. William stood up and, as gently as he could, helped Brother Snail to his feet. The monk held tightly to William’s arm for support.

  By now, a small crowd of manor servants had gathered around them. William recognized several of them from his hour spent in the kitchen. They whispered and muttered between themselves as they wondered what was going on. Master Brice took charge of Brother Snail.

  “Come with me back to the kitchen now, Brother, and let’s get you cleaned up,” the cook said soothingly, as if he were speaking to a small child. He led the monk toward the open door of the cross passage. “The rest of you, get back to work.”

  William noticed a group of stonemasons watching the commotion from the far end of the courtyard. Master Guillaume and Reynaud were amongst them. They stood silently, glancing up at the shuttered windows of Sir Robert’s private chambers and staring with open hostility at William.

  “What happened?” one of the kitchen servants asked, peering curiously at William. Finding two visitors from the abbey lying in puddles was not something that happened every day. William ducked his head and pushed past him.

&n
bsp; William stood in the manor doorway and tried to find the courage to go up the stairs after Master Woodcote. He felt guilty that he hadn’t tried to warn the steward what was waiting for him up there. But more than that, he was worried about Shadlok. Had the demon attacked him, too? Was he dead? William had just put a foot on the bottom step when he heard voices. To his enormous relief, he realized one of them was Shadlok’s, and the other was Master Woodcote’s. He hurried up the staircase and into Sir Robert’s chambers.

  The demon had gone. William was surprised to see that Sir Robert wasn’t dead after all. He was lying on the floor by one of the windows, moaning softly. The shutter had been pulled open, allowing a little daylight into the room. Master Woodcote was leaning over Sir Robert, his plump face white with shock. Shadlok was kneeling nearby and rubbing away the chalk marks on the floor with a cloth. The demon’s circle, however, had been burned deeply into the floorboards. The ash from the bowl stirred in the draft from the open door and lifted in a fine gray cloud. It mingled with the chalk dust swirling slowly in the light from the window.

  “Where did the demon go?” William asked.

  Shadlok sat back on his heels and glanced at William. “I do not know, but it has not gone very far. I can still feel it close by. How is the monk?”

  “He’s very shaken. Master Brice has taken him to the kitchen.” William thought of the cook’s good-humored face. “He’s in safe hands.” He nodded to Sir Robert. “Will he be all right?”

  Shadlok shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “Help me to get Sir Robert to his bed. I can’t carry him on my own,” Master Woodcote said to Shadlok. He glanced at William. “Open the bedchamber door, boy, it’s behind the hanging on the end wall, and pull back the bed coverings.”

  William hauled the heavy coverings to the foot of the bed and stood back as Shadlok and the steward lowered the unconscious man onto the mattress. William saw an angry red burn on Sir Robert’s forehead where the demon had touched him.

  “Fetch Brother Snail. He may be able to help Sir Robert,” Master Woodcote said. “Put the carpets and furniture back as quickly as you can, before anyone sees something they shouldn’t.” He frowned over his shoulder at them. “I am sure I don’t need to tell either of you not to talk about what has happened here today with anyone. All they need to know is that Sir Robert was taken ill.”

  “Nobody will believe that,” William said. Too many stories were already flying about, thanks to the stonemasons.

  “They will believe what they are told,” the steward said grimly.

  Between them, William and Shadlok laid the carpets and dragged the furniture back into place. When they had finished, William asked, “What will happen now that the demon is free?”

  “Nothing good, I am sure.” Shadlok opened the rest of the shutters. The late afternoon sunlight splashed gold on the floor and lit up the colors in the carpets. Everything looked much as it had before, but there was a subtle change, as if in spite of the light coming through the windows, a shadow had settled over the chamber. The expensive luxury of the room had dimmed and there was an atmosphere within the walls that left William feeling on edge. Traces of the demon seemed to linger on the dusty air.

  William was glad to escape from the chamber. He ran all the way to the kitchen, ignoring angry mutters from the stonemasons when he passed them in the kitchen yard. He found Brother Snail sitting by the hearth, a cup of warmed and spiced small beer in his hands. The color had returned to his cheeks. His damp habit had been wiped clean of mud and was drying in the heat from the fire.

  “Master Woodcote wants you to come and see if there’s anything you can do for Sir Robert.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Master Brice asked, sounding surprised.

  “I don’t know,” William said truthfully, “but he’s unconscious.”

  Brother Snail set the cup down on the hearthstones and pushed himself up out of the chair, gripping the back for support. “I will come immediately.”

  The cook looked worried. “I’ll send for Dame Alys, Brother. She’s skilled at healing people and can help you.”

  “I don’t think that is necessary,” the monk said, with a quick glance at William. “Thank you for your hospitality, Master Brice.”

  “You’re sure?” the cook said doubtfully. “People here at the manor usually send for the dame when they’re ill. Young Wat can run and fetch her. He has a nimble pair of legs and will be back with her in no time.”

  Brother Snail didn’t look happy at the prospect of the wise woman coming to the manor, but he said nothing. Perhaps he realized that Master Brice was likely to send for her anyway.

  William accompanied Brother Snail as far as the door to the manor house. “I’ll go find the hob and tell him what’s happened,” he said.

  The monk nodded and said, “We will have to take word of our failure to the prior at Bethlehem. It’s too late to set out today, but you and Shadlok must go first thing tomorrow.”

  “We can’t leave you here by yourself,” William protested, “especially if Dame Alys comes to the manor, not now that her demon is free.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Will. Nowhere is safe now. I might just as well be here tending to Master Robert as hidden away at Bethlehem.” Brother Snail sounded weary. He bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment. His next words seemed to cost him dearly, and there was deep sadness in his voice when he spoke again. “And when you have delivered the message to the prior, you and Shadlok should leave Crowfield. He will take care of you. Find somewhere far from here and begin your life again.”

  William stared at him, too shocked to speak for a moment. “You want me to leave? But what about you and the hob?”

  The monk patted his arm. “We will take our chances, but I will rest easy knowing you are safe.”

  William shook his head. “No, I won’t go. I’m staying and so is Shadlok.”

  The monk opened his mouth to argue, but William turned and walked away without giving him a chance to get a word out. He knew Brother Snail meant well, but the monk didn’t know him at all if he thought William could live with himself after abandoning the two people he loved most in the world. He knew the hob wasn’t a person as such, but the hob and Brother Snail were his family now. He had already lost one family, he wasn’t about to lose a second.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  The hob was delighted to see William safe and unharmed, but his happy mood quickly faded when William told him that the attempt to bind the demon had failed.

  “Maybe it will go away now that it’s free,” the hob said hopefully. He was still invisible, but William could see the hollow in the straw where he was sitting.

  “It might,” William said, stroking Matilda’s face. But somehow he didn’t think it would.

  The hob was silent for a while. The straw rustled, and something long and dark moved through the air as if of its own accord. To his surprise, he saw that it was a bone whistle.

  “I found this and thought you could play it until Shadlok makes you a new flute,” the hob said.

  William took it from him and turned it over to inspect it. The bone was dark and shiny from years of use. He put it to his lips and softly blew a wavery note. He felt for the holes and blew again. The whistle was a crude instrument and had fewer holes than his flute had, but after a few attempts, he managed to play a recognizable tune.

  “Where did you get it from?” William asked.

  “It was in a wooden box in a shed,” the hob said, sounding very pleased with himself. “There were spider’s webs all over the box, and dust. I don’t think anyone wants it, so you can have it now.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” William said. Stealing from Sir Robert, even if it was only a long-forgotten whistle, was not a wise thing to do, but perhaps he could borrow it for a while.

  “Play the summer song,” the hob said.

  William rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Very well, but just th
e once.”

  “Or maybe twice,” the hob said.

  William leaned against the wooden partition and began to play.

  At dusk, Shadlok came to find him.

  “I have been looking for you,” the fay said. Matilda whickered with pleasure at the sound of his voice. He stood beside her and stroked her neck.

  “I’m keeping out of the way,” William said. The hob was curled up beside him, still safely invisible, sleeping off a meal of hazelnuts and apples, which he had found in one of Sir Robert’s well-stocked storerooms, and a great deal of cuckooing.

  “That is probably for the best,” Shadlok said. “Rumors of what has been going on here today are rife, and word is out that Sir Robert is ill. It is fair to say we are not popular,” he added wryly.

  William made a face. He had no doubt about that. “How is Sir Robert?”

  “There is nothing wrong with Sir Robert’s body,” Shadlok said. “The demon has blighted his mind. He is conscious now, but he mumbles and mutters and does not know who or where he is. I think there is very little the monk can do for him, and whether or not he will recover remains to be seen.”

  “Is Dame Alys here?”

  “Why would she be?” Shadlok asked sharply.

  “Master Brice was going to send for her.”

  “Well, if he did, she did not come.”

  “Is the demon still close by?” William asked.

  “No, it seems to have gone, but I am sure we have not seen the last of it.”

  There were a couple of apples in the straw, left over from the hob’s meal. Shadlok helped himself to one and held it on his flat palm for Matilda. Her soft lips scooped it up and she munched it contentedly, her eyes half closed. A small smile touched the fay’s mouth as he watched her.

  William glanced down at the patch of straw where the hob was snoring softly. “We’ll stay here in the stable tonight.”

  “Very well.” Shadlok gave Matilda a last pat. “We will set out for Bethlehem at dawn. Be ready.”