The Crowfield Curse Read online

  William nodded and hurried along the track at an awkward jog. The hob bounced up and down on his shoulders, his paws holding tightly to William’s hair.

  “What did you think you were doing?” William hissed angrily. “Another few moments and Ralph Saddler would have thought I was possessed, jigging around like that.”

  “What is pessest?” the hob asked breathlessly. He seemed to be quite enjoying the bumpy ride, though the grip of his bony haunches was causing considerable discomfort to Will’s shoulders.

  “It’s when a demon lives inside you and takes over your body and thoughts, and makes you do strange things.”

  “Like squirrels,” the hob said.

  “Squirrels?” William said, baffled. “How is being possessed like squirrels?”

  “They do strange things,” the hob said darkly. “They take over your burrow and your food store. They are pessest.”

  William grinned. Demon squirrels in Foxwist? After the last few days, he was ready to believe almost anything was possible.

  Up ahead, Shadlok had reached the slope in the track leading up into the forest. William was relieved to see him stop and turn to look back. Even at that distance, he could sense the fay’s impatience as he waited for William and the hob to catch up with him.

  As he trudged along the track, William went over in his mind what little they knew about the night the angel had died. It would have taken two, perhaps three hours to carry a body from the Sheep Brook ford to Weforde in the snow. The monks could have buried the angel anywhere along the track’s length. Short of digging up the entire wood, there was no way of knowing where the grave was.

  William thought hard. He was missing something here. If the monks had put clues to the site of the grave, then it meant the grave could be found by anyone who could figure out what the clues meant. A hazelnut and an acorn. What would make those two particular trees stand out from countless others in the wood?

  “Did the Red Man remember anything else at all?” William asked the hob at last.

  “He heard one of the brother men say he knew a safe place to bury the body. He said the stories would keep people away so nobody would ever find it.”

  “The stories?” William said, puzzled. “What stories?”

  “I asked him that but he did not know.”

  Come on, think! William told himself. A place people told stories about, of the kind that would make them shun it. An oak and a hazel.

  A light suddenly seemed to shine in William’s mind. Of course! Excitement burned through him and his heart began to beat hard and fast. “I know where the grave is!”

  “You do?” the hob sounded surprised. “Where?”

  “The one place they knew nobody would willingly go near. The Whistling Hollow. The oak in the picture is the Boundary Oak, and the hazel, I’m fairly sure, is the hazel tree growing beside the pool.”

  He was certain he was right. There was nowhere else in Foxwist Wood it could be.

  “That is a bad place,” the hob said fearfully.

  “You know it?”

  “All the woodland creatures do. We stay away from it. A bad, bad place.”

  William felt a shudder go through the hob’s body.

  “Do you know what haunts the Hollow?” William asked.

  “Something old . . .” The hob’s voice faded to a whisper. He huddled close to William’s head and his breath was warm on William’s cheek. “It watches the woods from the place by the pool and sometimes it walks the woodland paths on winter nights.”

  William shivered. He did not like the sound of that. “Have you ever seen it?”

  “I hide when it is walking. All woodlanders do; we stay hidden until it has gone.”

  William thought of Brother Gabriel’s warning, that the devil hunted for unwary souls in Foxwist. Was the spirit in the Hollow the devil? Or was it something else, and the monks simply called it the devil because they had no other name for it?

  “Are you going to tell Shadlok that you know where the angel is?” the hob asked.

  “He will have to tell me why he wants to find the grave first.”

  “Nangel bone magic,” the hob said softly. “Grindy, grindy.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  You took your time,” Shadlok said when William finally caught up with him.

  “If you’d bothered to wait . . . ,” William began, nettled.

  “You might have time to waste gossiping with people; I do not.” Shadlok turned and walked away. William glared at the fay’s back.

  They walked along in silence. By late morning, the cold, bright day had given way to an overcast sky and a wind from the north. It keened through the branches of the trees in the forest, making them sway and creak overhead, and sent a last few dead leaves skittering across the track. The deep ruts had softened a little, making it muddy underfoot. William stopped every now and then to wipe the worst of the mud from his boots onto the grass on the edge of the track. Shadlok, he noticed, seemed to have no such trouble. Quite how he managed to keep his boots so clean, William had no idea. Perhaps mud did not stick to fays, he thought.

  Shadlok had made the hob visible again. The creature’s thin hairy legs and large feet hung down over William’s chest. His tail was looped around William’s neck, and his toes curled and uncurled as he sniffed the air.

  “There is snow coming,” the hob said.

  William shivered. When winter bit down hard on the land, the abbey seemed to hold the northern chill within its stone walls. Bitter drafts keened under doors and along the cloister alleys, bringing hacking coughs and fevered colds in their wake. He remembered last winter, his first at Crowfield, when the only sound, apart from the regular clang of the bells, was the barking coughs or sneezing of sick monks.

  “Where do you live when you’re in the woods?” William asked. It was something he had often wondered about.

  “I have a burrow deep under the roots of an oak tree,” the hob replied.

  “Isn’t that cold and damp?”

  “No. My burrow is lined with leaves and moss. I keep a store of nuts and berries there, so I do not have to go outside when the rain comes, or if it snows. It is warm and comfortable, and I have the oak tree for company. We talk sometimes.”

  William raised his eyebrows. “You talk to a tree?”

  The hob patted William’s head. “In here.”

  “What do you talk about?”

  “Hob things. And tree things.”

  Ask a stupid question, William thought with a wry smile. “Don’t you miss your burrow?”

  “Of course, but I like the snail brother’s hut, too. I am happy to live there for now.”

  “Oh, good,” William said with a grin. “Perhaps when you leave the abbey, I’ll come and stay with you in your burrow.”

  “I might not have enough nuts to share with you.” There was a note of anxiety in the hob’s voice. “And by now, if I know anything about squirrels — and I do — then they have seized their chance to raid my winter store. You cannot trust squirrels,” he added, a hint of a growl in his voice.

  William tried not to laugh. “I think, between us, we are more than a match for a few squirrels. We’ll raid their nut store.”

  The hob considered this. “That might work very well. And we can take their pinecones, too. That might make them think again about pelting me from the branches of the trees.”

  They left the track and followed a path which wove through a stand of young oaks, each one planted with cleared space around it so they could grow straight and tall. These were Sir Robert’s trees, to be cut when he had need of new roof beams or wall timbers.

  From there, the path led into a hazel coppice and then curved away into the wildwood, narrowing as it passed between large old oaks and through thorn thickets. Looking up, William saw gray clouds scudding by. There was an edge to the wind that pinched his fingers and toes and hinted at the bitter weather to come.

  The path joined a second, wider one that
led to the swineherd’s hut. Shadlok slowed his pace to allow William and the hob to catch up with him again. His jaw was set and he seemed tense.

  “Stay close,” he said softly.

  “What’s wrong?” William asked.

  The fay’s sharp gaze swept the undergrowth and he seemed to be listening for something. “We are being tracked.”

  A chill went through William’s body. He stared at the fay. “We are?”

  “There are two of them, a little way behind us. They have been following us for a while. Take this, and be prepared to use it.” Shadlok took the knife from his belt and held the hilt toward William.

  The knife was light and thin-bladed. William had never seen one like it before. Patterns and letters were etched along the silver blade and the handle was inlaid with tiny pieces of bone in the form of a sinuous, coiling creature.

  William tucked the knife into his belt. Apart from play fights with his brother Hugh and the boys in his village, he had never fought anyone with a weapon of any kind.

  “Who are they?” William asked anxiously. “Are they fays? Or outlaws?”

  “Does it matter?” Shadlok said. He took the bow from his back and walked away.

  William followed quickly, one hand gripping Brother Walter’s good leg, the other holding the pig-stick. He wasn’t sure which would be worse, coming face-to-face with a fay warrior, or being attacked by outlaws. Only last August, Hal Brunleggin from Yagleah had been set upon by three men in Foxwist, on his way home from Weforde market. They had stolen his money and his boots, and had left him for dead with a lump the size of a duck’s egg on his head.

  And what if it came to a fight? Did Shadlok really expect him to use the knife against an armed outlaw? And survive?

  Brother Walter wound his fingers into William’s hair, and his tail coiled around William’s neck. William could feel the small body trembling with fear.

  “If I need to put you on the ground, run for cover as fast as you can,” William said, tugging at the hob’s tail to loosen it a little.

  “I will stay and fight,” the hob said, but William heard the quaver in his voice.

  “And do what? Bite their knees? Do as I say, and hide.”

  William looked around and his heart missed a beat. There was no sign of Shadlok.

  “He’s gone!” William gasped. “We’re on our own!”

  The hob whimpered. William quickened his pace, trying not to panic. His hand gripping the pig-stick was damp with sweat. His breath was harsh in his throat. Underfoot, dead bracken hid tree roots. He stumbled a couple of times but quickly regained his footing. The hob clung to him. William could feel the creature’s heart beating like a small drum against his ear.

  Something stroked his cheek. There was a sting of pain and a dull thud as an arrow hit a birch tree an arm’s span from William’s face. He touched his cheek with a trembling finger. Blood. The arrow had grazed his skin.

  The hob whimpered. The arrow had nicked him, too, but his thick fur had stopped the sharp point from doing more serious damage.

  William stared wildly around. It was several moments before he saw a movement away to his right. To his horror, he glimpsed a man fitting an arrow to a bow. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees. The hob tumbled from his shoulders and crawled under a fallen branch, where he hid beneath a tangle of trailing brambles.

  “Stay there,” William hissed. “Don’t move.”

  The hob huddled into a tight crouch, his face crumpled with terror.

  William, keeping low, ran toward a sprawling holly bush. He reached it and straightened up. Peering between the leaves, William could no longer see the archer. He took several deep breaths and threw the pig-stick aside. It would not be of any use against arrows. He took the knife from his belt and held it up in front of him. He was certain the man was close by, waiting for his chance to loose an arrow into William’s body.

  “You’ll have to catch me first,” William muttered through gritted teeth. Moving as quietly as he could, he crept around the holly bush, but the bowman had the advantage, and William knew it. This was not an even fight in any sense, but a fight it would be; William was not going to make this too easy for the man stalking him.

  He broke cover and ran toward the hazel coppice, jumping over fallen branches and skidding on brambles, darting from side to side as he went.

  A second arrow whistled through the air. This time it missed, but William felt the stir of air as it sliced past his head. His heart hammered against his ribs as he reached the sheltering bulk of a coppiced tree and stood with his shoulders against the trunk.

  Away to his right, there was a sudden commotion. William heard the clash of metal on wood, and two figures almost danced into sight. Shadlok swung his bow at a man armed with a sword. The man held the hilt with both hands and hacked at Shadlok’s bow. The bow and the sword flashed through the air so fast William could barely see them. They fought with bewildering speed. It was impossible to make out what was happening or tell who was winning until Shadlok winded his opponent with a well-aimed blow to the stomach, and the man doubled over. Shadlok brought the bow down on the man’s arm and the sword went spinning from his grip. As quick as light, Shadlok snatched up the sword and ran the blade through the man’s body.

  William gasped at the spurt of blood that arced from the man’s chest. He stumbled backward, shocked and sickened, and barely noticed when Shadlok turned toward him and shouted, “Behind you!”

  William looked around but he was too late. Something hit him in the face. Sparks of light whirled through his head and his nose seemed to burst apart in a shower of hot blood. The next moment, the knife was knocked from his hand.

  Acting purely on instinct, William threw himself forward, head down, and caught his opponent off guard. They fell to the ground and William hit out with his fists. Cold fingers, unbelievably strong, closed around his throat and squeezed tightly. William fought harder, kicking out, flailing his fists, but the grip grew tighter.

  The fingers suddenly loosened and the man slumped, a dead weight, on top of William.

  William lay there for a few moments, dazed, and then he heaved the man’s body aside and struggled to sit up. The man lay on his back and William saw him clearly for the first time. The deep-set eyes staring sightlessly into the winter sky were unnaturally green. The dead face was thin and sharply boned, the skin startlingly white. His hair spilled around his head like a pool of black water. There were two arrows in his side.

  The dead creature was a fay.

  Shadlok walked over to William, his face spattered with the creature’s blood. He stared down at the body for a moment, tight-lipped. He held out a hand and helped William to his feet.

  William dabbed at his throbbing nose with his sleeve, trying to wipe away the worst of the blood. It felt as if it had swollen to twice its size. The pain was making him dizzy.

  Shadlok glanced at him. “Unpleasant, but you will live.”

  “Thanks,” William muttered thickly. There was blood in his mouth and he spat it out. He watched as Shadlok retrieved his arrows and wiped the heads clean on the fay’s tunic. He picked up his knife and handed it back to William.

  “Keep this for now.”

  William took the knife. His fingers shook so much he could barely hold it. “They were fays,” he said, staring at the body on the ground. “Why did they attack us?”

  “They were warriors of the Dark King, my enemies.”

  “But why attack you now?”

  Shadlok did not look at him. “I am sure they had their reasons.”

  “Will there be more of them?” William asked.

  “There are always more,” Shadlok said softly. “Where is the hob?”

  William pointed to the fallen branch. “Over there. I told him to stay hidden.”

  Shadlok walked across to the hob’s hiding place and returned moments later with the hob following close behind.

  Brother Walter looked horrified at the sight of William’s face, but
there was relief in the look, too. “I thought you were dead.”

  “No,” William said, blood bubbling from his nostrils. “Still alive.”

  “We are wasting time,” Shadlok said. “Move quickly and stay watchful.” He set off at a run between the trees.

  William lifted the hob onto his shoulders. He retrieved the pig-stick and hurried after Shadlok. Each step sent pain shooting through his head, but fear spurred him on and kept him going. All he could think of was getting back to the safety of the abbey.

  They were within sight of the ditch and bank of the deer park when there was a sudden commotion in the undergrowth away to their right. His heart hammering with fright, William drew the knife from his belt and turned to face whatever was crashing through the trees toward them.

  Two deer, panic-stricken, ran across the clearing. They shied away at the sight of William and leaped, stumbling and desperate, over the ditch and away over the top of the bank.

  The hob wrapped his arms tightly around William’s neck and whimpered beside his ear. Fear washed over William in cold waves as he stared into the tangled thickets and dark undergrowth, wondering what had frightened the deer. Were more fays following them through the forest?

  Shadlok spun around to face William. “Get back to the abbey now. Run. Do not stop for anything.”

  William paused just long enough to ask, “What about you?”

  “Just go!”

  William did as he was told. Gripping the hob’s good leg, he turned and ran for his life.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  William sprinted between the trees, leaping over ruts and potholes. His heart pounded as if it would beat its way out of his chest. The hob twisted his paws into William’s hair and hung on tightly.

  William reached the main track near the Boundary Oak. He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against the tree for a few moments. In the distance, the abbey bell rang out for sext. The monks would be leaving whatever work they were busy with and filing into the church. By the time he reached the abbey, sext would be over, and they would be back about their tasks again. Suddenly, the abbey seemed to be the only safe place to be in a terrifying world.