Part 4 (2/2)
”And your mother?”
”Dead, too.”
”I can a.s.sure you,” said Bashcroft, ”they're better off. Now then, tomorrow morning, I shall bring you to this Master Thorston's house. You will insinuate yourself into his household, discover the man's gold-making method, and deliver it to me-only to me.”
”What will this man do with me, sir?”
”I neither know nor care. I merely warn you that if you fail to learn his secret, I'll thrash you-mercilessly. Do you understand?”
Alfric nodded.
”Moreover, I shall always be close, watching. You'll not escape me, Alfric, not until you've provided me-only me-with the gold-making secret. And, if you reveal his secret to anyone else but me, I shall wring your neck like the runty puppy you are. Can you grasp that?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Then you may have just enough intelligence to survive. Now, follow me.” So saying, the reeve heaved himself up, wrapped himself in a great cape, and strode loudly out of the Pure Hart and into the pelting rain.
Miserable, cold, and wet, Alfric kept close.
CHAPTER THREE.
1.
MORNING, however unwilling, seeped into Fulworth. A gray, raw morning, with bl.u.s.tery winds blowing through the narrow streets and alleys, spreading the stink of rot, open privies, and spoiled food. When the bells of Saint Osyth's cathedral rang for Prime, they did so with peals that sounded like colliding lumps of lead. And in the decaying stone house at the end of Clutterbuck Lane, Sybil, through chattering teeth said, ”I don't think Master wishes to live.''
”He once told me,” said Odo, ”that when he knew he was going to die, he'd make sure he stayed alive. Like most humans, he's not kept his word.”
Sybil, contemplating Thorston's unmoving face, said, ”How old do you think he is?”
”Eighty years or so.”
”I suppose,” said Sybil, ”he should be content: he's lived far longer than most.”
”I don't care how long he's lived,” said Odo. ”I ask for just one hour-if he talks.”
Sybil filled the wooden spoon with broth and continued trying to force liquid through Thorston's clenched lips. A few drops got in. Most dribbled down his chin. She wiped the spill with a dirty rag. ”It's useless,” she said. ”He won't take anything.”
”Which means we we won't get anything,” croaked the bird. won't get anything,” croaked the bird.
Upset, Sybil carried the bowl to the brazier where she had kept a small fire burning with chips of sea coal. Next to the fire stood the iron pot with which Thorston had been working when he took ill. She stood close to it. As she s.h.i.+fted about, trying to warm herself, she caught a sudden, furtive glance from Odo. Sensing he was troubled by her nearness to the pot, she decided to look at it closely. As she bent over it she saw-out of the corner of her eye-Odo become more agitated.
She pulled back. He relaxed. She went forward. He tensed.
”Odo,” she asked, certain it was her nearness to the pot that was upsetting him, ”did you ever-for a certainty-know if Master actually made made gold?” gold?”
When the raven gave no answer, she moved her hand toward the pot.
”Sybil!” shrilled the bird.
She looked about.
”Perhaps,” said Odo, ”I should have told you before: I think Master found the way to make gold. In fact, I believe he was making it when he had his stroke.”
”What makes you say that?”
”He cried out,” said the raven, ”as I never heard before. It's what woke me. Come here, and I'll describe it.”
Sybil, convinced Odo was trying to keep her from the pot, did not move. ”Odo, if Master did make gold it should be about. Could it be-in here?” She gestured toward the pot.
The bird bobbed his head up and down. ”You may be a.s.sured I've looked. It's not there.”
Sybil felt a surge of anger. ”When did you look?”
”When I discovered him ill.”
”And what, Master raven, did you find?”
”I told you, nothing.”
”Is that when you woke me?” cried Sybil. ”Only after after you found nothing?” Furious, she plunged her hand into the pot. you found nothing?” Furious, she plunged her hand into the pot.
”Don't!” screamed the bird.
Sybil worked her fingers through the thick, pongy mess. Touching some lumps, she cried, ”Odo, there is is something.” something.”
”Gold?” cried the bird. He hopped toward her.
Sybil s.n.a.t.c.hed up the lumps, and turned from him.
”Is it gold?” repeated Odo, beating about her. ”Is it?”
Keeping her back to the bird, Sybil wiped the lumps on her gown and looked at them. There were three of them, greenish, imperfectly round, each smaller than the next, the smallest the size of a pea. ”They are only stones,” she said, with a sinking heart. ”Green ones.”
”Show them to me!” squawked Odo as he jumped to her arm and gave her a sharp peck. Sybil, clutching the stones in one hand, smacked the bird away with the other.
<script>