Part 9 (1/2)

13.

When Sybil reached the upper room, Alfric was by the window gazing out. Damian was sitting on the stool. The moment she appeared he said, ”How long do you expect me to stay?”

”Until we find gold,” said Sybil.

”We believe,” said Odo, ”our master hid his gold somewhere-here about.”

”Mid this disarray?” said Damian.

”Yes,” said Odo.

Damian stood up. ”But if I stay, I have no intention of working.”

”So be it,” said Sybil, and she offered up a silent prayer of relief.

The search began. Sybil set Alfric the task of finding all small bottles and placing them on the table, which he was happy to do. She tried to set the room into better order by dumping pieces of gla.s.s and debris in one corner, collecting useless items in another, putting Thorston's alchemic apparatus upright. The only thing she did not touch-sensing it was important-was the pot from which she had taken the stones. Odo busied himself by fluttering about, peering everywhere, poking into the small things he could grasp in his beak or talons.

Damian, true to his word, sat on Thorston's bed and merely watched. But as the day wore on he became bored. In time he began to help-if only in a half-hearted way.

By early evening, the room was in far better order, the stench less odious. Even so, nothing of importance had been found. So when the cathedral bells rang for Vespers, a weary Sybil fetched a fist of barley from the back room along with a half cabbage and some turnips so they might eat.

”Water,” she reminded herself. It had always been her ch.o.r.e to fetch it from the well. Without even considering that anyone else might do the task, she took up a wooden bucket and went down the steps to the ground floor and opened the door. After checking to make sure no one was lurking about, she stepped away from the house.

14.

Sybil darted across the courtyard, going directly to the well. Once there, feeling a vague unease, she looked about. A low fog lay like a shallow swamp upon the ground, rendering the courtyard formless-as if it were there but not there. It made her think of Master Thorston in his grave-here-but not not here. here.

As Sybil tried to imagine death, she tied the well rope to her bucket handle and flung it down. It landed with a distant splash.

Is death-she found herself thinking-like an empty bucket at the bottom of a well?

Even as she had the thought, the bucket settled and filled. She began to haul it up. Is that what life is? A full bucket, rising? Then where am I? she asked herself-rising or falling?

”I want to rise,” she said aloud.

Her musing faded when, with a start, she became aware that someone had entered the courtyard. She looked up. It was Brother Wilfrid. As he drew to within a few feet of her she became frightened but made herself hold fast.

The monk halted. His green eyes, amid the ma.s.s of face wrinkles, fixed upon her. ”You are fearful of me,” he said.

”I am,” said Sybil.

”You need not be. I'm little more than a presence with neither the strength nor inclination to do you harm. There are more important people to fear than me.”

”Who?”

”Thorston.”

”He's dead,” said Sybil.

”Dead!”

”We buried him today.”

”Where?”

”In the house,” said Sybil, belatedly thinking she should not have made the admission.

Brother Wilfrid seemed to sway in a breeze. ”Did he ... did he not make the stones?” he asked.

Though she knew exactly what the monk was asking about, Sybil said, ”What stones?”

”He was making them when I first came,” said Wilfrid. ”They must be in the house. You need to find them. You are in great danger.”

”Why?”

”Do you know nothing about them?”

Sybil shook her head.

Brother Wilfrid was silent for a long moment. ”Then you must hear me,” he finally said.

15.

”It was in 973,” began the monk, ”seventy-three years ago, that a boy was born. Extraordinary omens occurred: stars fell out of the heavens. On Saint Waccar's day, the sun grew dark at noon. Sheets of fire hung in the night sky. Between c.o.c.kcrow and dawn, frightful flashes of lightning were observed. There were those who swore they had seen dragons flying through the air. These dreadful omens were followed by a great famine that stirred the flames of civil conflict. All over Northumbria, thieves and brigands roamed. In the strife that followed, the boy's parents were killed.

”Relations took the child in, but the ravages of famine overwhelmed all, and he lost them, too. Alone, he lived in fear. And when it appeared as if life could not be worse, news spread that Viking raiders had returned to Northumbria. They looted churches and slaughtered many, while taking some into slavery and holding others for ransom.

”Devastation ruled the land.

”So it was that by the time the boy reached thirteen years of age, beyond all else, he feared death.

”The boy heard that the safest place on earth was Saint Elfleda's monastery, which was on a small island off the northeastern coast of Northumbria. There he accepted the only work he could get, that of a goatherd.”

”Who was that boy?” asked Sybil.

”Your master, Thorston.”