The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [19]
“Have you a cemetery there?” asked Alfric.
“But why?” said Odo.
“Because if we take Master’s body out of the building, his death will be noted—will it not?”
“Yes, but-”
“If his death is noted,” Sybil continued, “you said so yourself—we’ll lose all chance of learning anything. Bury him here, and no one need know. It will give us time to find his secrets.”
“May I remind you,” said Damian, “I did see him die. Anyway, you can’t just bury a person in one’s house. It must be in sacred ground.”
Sybil glared at him. “You’re perfectly welcome to leave,” she said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me,” returned Damian. “I’ve come to learn your master’s secrets. You’ve made it clear you have some. I’ve no intention of leaving without learning them.”
Knocking erupted on the front door.
“God’s mercy,” cried Odo. “If that’s another green-eyed child, I shall lie on my back and stick my feet into the air.”
Sybil, seeing Damian wince, said, “What are you frightened about?”
“It’s possibly my mistress come after me.”
“Why should she do that?”
“I’ve … I’ve run away.”
Alfric, who had been looking out the window, said, “Please, I think it’s Master Bashcroft.”
“That’s no better,” said Damian.
“This boy belongs to him” said Sybil, pointing to Alfric.
Damian looked on Alfric as if for the first time. “What do you mean belongs to him?”
Alfric hung his head. “He bought me.”
There was more pounding on the door.
“Please, Mistress,” said Alfric, tugging on Sybil’s sleeve. “I want to stay.”
“You may stay,” said Sybil. “But you, Master Damian, decide: Go or stay?”
“I can’t go home” said Damian, “I have to have the secrets.”
The knocking below resumed.
“Well?” said Sybil.
“I’ll stay.”
“Good,” said Sybil. “Then I’ll deal with the reeve.”
8
Sybil hurried down the stairs. As she did, Odo leaped to her shoulder.
“You did that, didn’t you?” said Sybil.
“Did what?”
“Made that skull rise.”
“I did only what you requested.”
“Master raven, how many of Master’s secrets do you know?”
“Sybil, if you truly are going to bury Master here, I promise you that Damian will spread the news. Things will go badly.”
“Master Odo, since you won’t answer my questions and only change the subject, I intend to take care of myself.” As she reached for the door, it suddenly occurred to her that the ancient monk—the one she met the night before—might be on the other side. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s I, Ambrose Bashcroft, the reeve of Fulworth. Dura lex, sed lex. The law is hard, but it is the law. Since I am the law, I must see Master Thorston.”
“In faith, sir,” called Sybil, “my master is in no condition to have visitors.”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“His servant, sir.”
“Why can’t your master have visitors?”
Sybil looked over her shoulder. Alfric and Damian had come down the steps. “Master Reeve,” she cried through the closed door. “My master’s condition is such that he will speak to no one.”
“Dying, is he? Then I’ll speak to my boy, Alfric. Send him out immediately.”
“But, sir,” called Sybil, “even as you speak, your boy is about to attend my master.”
There was a moment of silence, after which the reeve said, “What is he doing?”
“He is going to help my master find his rest.”
“Is your master talking to him?”
“I’ve no doubt your boy is listening to every word my master utters.”
“Very well,” said the reeve. “I’ll return on the morrow at noon. I’ll speak to your master then. Advise him that I’ve ample reason to believe that dangerous doings are being conducted in this house.”
“I shall tell him,” said Sybil. She pressed an ear to the door. “He’s gone,” she announced after a moment.
“But he’ll be back,” cried Odd.
“Then,” said Sybil, “we’d best bury Master quickly.”
9
Sybil knelt by the trapdoor, grasped its iron rung, and yanked. It barely gave.
Odo started to lift a claw but stopped himself.
“Come here,” Sybil called to the boys. “I need your help.”
Alfric took hold of the ring. “Blessings on you for letting me stay,” he whispered.
“By God’s hands, you’re most welcome,” said Sybil. “Just