Part 3 (2/2)
8.
The old monk meandered though the city's poor quarter. In his ragged robe and with his emaciated appearance, he looked so like a local inhabitant that they paid him scant attention.
He had considered any number of children before he found one sleeping against a building. He was a wretchedly thin and dirty boy with an ill-fitting smock and hole-ridden boots. But what attracted Wilfrid to him was the tangle of dark red hair that fell off his face. And when Wilfrid looked down upon him, and the boy, who had been asleep, started and looked up, he did so with-green eyes.
”Please, sir,” said the boy, scrambling to his feet, ”is something the matter?”
”What are you doing here?” asked Wilfrid.
”I live about, sir,” said the boy, staring at Wilfrid's ancient face with the repugnance youth reserves for age.
”No home?”
”No, sir.”
”No family?”
”Dead, sir.”
”What is your name?”
”Alfric, sir.”
”When have you last eaten?”
”Three days ago.”
”Would you like some bread?”
”Yes, please.”
”Listen to me,” said the monk, ”I am in search of a book without words. Help me recover it, and you will earn some bread.”
”A book, sir? With no words?”
”'Tis so. Now, come with me,” said Wilfrid.
Alfric was hesitant but hungry. And hunger, having least, often risks most. He chose to follow the monk.
9.
Night came to Fulworth. In the upper room at the house at the end of Clutterbuck Lane, a solitary rush candle provided a glimmer of languis.h.i.+ng light. Upon the bed lay Master Thorston, eyes closed. Near to his hand was the Book Without Words; Odo insisted it stay there in case Master recovered his senses. But though the small rise and fall of his chest suggested life, he had not uttered a word since the day before.
Sybil, sure her master would not speak, sat on a three-legged stool next to his bed. The room was chilly enough to see her vaporous breath in the gloom. A chipped clay bowl filled with warm bone broth rested in her lap. Though the broth was for her master, she welcomed its heat. Now and again she tried to feed him.
No one spoke until low rumblings of thunder made her lift her head. ”There will be a storm soon,” she said, as much to herself as Odo.
Drawing her dirty shawl tighter around her shoulders, she studied Thorston's slack, withered face. What secrets, she wondered, lay within?
”Odo,” she said after a while, ”how long have you been with Master?”
”Too long.”
”In all that time, did you ever learn any of his secrets?”
”The lengthier the life, the more locked the lip,” said the bird.
Sybil rubbed her tired eyes. ”That's not an answer to my question.”
The raven shook his head. Sybil, knowing the bird was not about to tell her anything, sighed. Restless, deciding her efforts to feed Thorston were of no use, she put the bowl aside and went to the front window and gazed out. The courtyard was deserted. Or was it? There, where she had seen a figure the night before, she again thought she saw someone.
”Odo,” she called.
”What?” said the raven, his voice sleepy. He had jumped to the skull.
Sybil peered into the courtyard again. Whoever she had seen had gone. She was disappointed.
”All this has exhausted me,” murmured Odo. ”I need my sleep. You keep watch on Master.” He crouched on a stack of books.
Sybil made no reply. Doubting Master would ever wake, she wondered if it would not be better to leave right away. It was bad luck to be in a house when a man died. In any case, when Master died-which could not be long-her own life here would end. But where could she go? Other than servant's work, she didn't know what to do. As for the world beyond Fulworth, she knew nothing more than the wretched village where she had been raised, where her peasant parents had lived-if one could call it that-and died.
There was that Italy Odo had mentioned. It sounded wonderful. Sybil wondered if she could walk to it.
”Odo,” she called. ”How far off is that Italy?”
”Find it ... yourself,” murmured the bird, all but asleep.
No, thought Sybil, I can't even go there. Not till I have gold-which I'll never have. But I must do something.
She gazed out the window. The person had returned. As she considered him, it occurred to Sybil that he was rather childlike in size. And as she continued to gaze, she had the distinct sensation he was looking right at her. Perhaps, she suddenly thought, it's a green-eyed child!
She looked to Odo. The bird was sound asleep. Suddenly she felt pleased with herself. Here's my chance to show him my plan was right! my chance to show him my plan was right!
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