The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [16]
Alfric, sitting on the stool’s edge, looked about the room. Now and again he wiped his face with his dirty hands.
Sybil placed the bowl from which she had been attempting to feed Thorston back on the brazier. As it warmed, she watched Alfric survey the room. She sensed he was looking for something.
“Tell me, Alfric,” she said, “what is your connection to Master Bashcroft?”
“He bought me for two pennies.”
“Bought you! Where are your parents, then?”
“Dead,” the boy whispered.
“May they find grace,” said Sybil as she handed the bowl to the boy.
With a look of gratitude, Alfric took the bowl in both raw hands. He allowed himself a sip; then a second, deeper one. His third swallow drained the bowl. Though the bowl was empty, he continued to clutch it, reluctant to give up its warmth.
“Now, Alfric,” said Sybil, “I require you to look at something with those green eyes of yours.”
“Mistress, I can read. Truly. My father, who did ledgers for merchants, was also a scrivener. He taught me the skill.”
“Even better,” said Sybil, glancing at Odo and feeling a heart swell of anticipation. She went to Thorston’s bed, took up the Book Without Words, placed it on Alfric’s knees, and opened it at random. “Be so good as to read what you see.”
As Alfric bent over the open page, Odo hopped closer to observe better. Sybil also watched intently.
After a long time Alfric looked up. “Please, Mistress,” he whispered. “There are no words here.”
Sybil sighed. “Turn some pages. Perhaps you’ll find something.”
Alfric reached the end of the book. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Is it something I’ve done?”
Even as he spoke there came a loud pounding on the door below.
3
Sybil looked to Odo. The raven’s head was up, bright black eyes full of alarm.
“It must be Master Bashcroft,” whispered Alfric. His thin chest heaved. Tears began to flow. “He said he’d be watching me closely. Said he’d beat me if I don’t find out how your master makes gold.”
Odo jumped up to the window and peered down. Sybil joined him.
“Now what do you propose to do?” the bird whispered.
“Look there,” said Sybil, tapping the glass with her finger. “In that far doorway. It’s Bashcroft. So it can’t be him who’s knocking.”
“No doubt,” said Odo, “he’s sending an army of green-eyed children.”
Sybil turned to boy. “Alfric,” she called, “did you come with anyone beside the reeve?”
Alfric, his face full of fright, was standing stiff as a stick with the Book Without Words clutched to his chest like a shield. He shook his head.
Another knock came.
Sybil gave Odo a warning look, as if to say “Don’t speak!” then hastened down the steps, candle in hand. By the time she reached the seventh step, Odo had leaped to her shoulder, and he rode the rest of the way down with her. He pecked her neck twice, but she ignored it.
“Who’s there?” she called when she reached the door.
“A child with green eyes,” was the bellowed reply from the other side. “Here to see Master Thorston.”
“God’s grace,” said Sybil, “whoever it is, he doesn’t lack for boldness.” She pulled the door open.
On the threshold stood Damian.
Sybil, recognizing him as the apothecary’s apprentice, was immediately alarmed. She took a mental measure of him. He was bigger than she, well fed, but not much older. She noted his pimpled red face and the fact that he wore decent boots and a wool jacket. He seemed soft, with much padding.
“I am Damian Perbeck. Apprentice to Mistress Weebly, the apothecary. My eyes are green.”
Despite feeling an instant dislike for the boy, Sybil stepped aside. “Enter,” she said.
Damian eyed her. “Who are you?”
“Master Thorston’s servant.”
“Then my business is not with you” said the boy. He stepped inside and turned his back on her. “Take me to your master.”
“I’ll take you nowhere, till you tell me why you’ve come,” said Sybil as she slammed the door, set the bar, and faced the boy.
“Mistress Weebly, knowing Master Thorston is in need of a green-eyed child, sent me. To learn his alchemy.”
Odo glared