Part 17 (2/2)
Sybil looked up. ”Do you think it would work?”
”It might,” said Odo. ”As long as they don't know the gold is false.”
”I'm willing to try,” said Sybil, putting the Damian coin in her own purse.
The two hurried down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, where Sybil flung open one of the chests. She gasped. The coins were gone: each and every one had turned to sand.
”Blessed mercy,” cried Odo. ”Try the other chest!”
They were the same.
”My heart is breaking,” whispered Odo.
The two returned to the upper room. ”This is all my fault,” said the bird.
”Why?”
”My thoughts were only about gold.”
”You only desired to free yourself.”
”I should have been content with what was.”
”But you hated that life,” said Sybil. ”Besides, we may still have a chance. I suppose it depends now on Master.” She went to Thorston's bedside and gazed at his unmoving body beneath the blanket. She wondered if the astonis.h.i.+ng changes of age came slowly or suddenly. ”Odo,” she said, ”do you think magic is nothing but life in haste?”
The bird shook his head. ”More likely it's the other way around: life being the slowest magic.”
”But magic all the same,” said Sybil. She thought of the last and smallest stone. ”Such a small stone,” she said. ”Time. Such a great gift. How odd it's the smallest.”
”How young do you think he'll be when he returns?” Odo asked.
”The changes seem to work in jumps of twenty years or so,” said Sybil.
”Then perhaps,” said Odo, ”he'll be as young as when he first stole the book from the monk.”
”About my age,” said Sybil. ”I don't think I would enjoy his company.” She held up the stone. ”What do you think might happen if I swallowed it?”
”Perhaps you too could start anew.”
”And relive this misery of my life? I'd rather not go far back, but start anew-from now.”
She went to the window and stared out at the gallows and the soldiers. But she was thinking about what she had just said. ”Odo,” she said at last, ”there is a back way-the old back entry.”
The bird shook his head. ”It's blocked.”
”By the old city wall. You know how its mortar is crumbled in many places. It's that way here, too. Odo,” she said, becoming excited. ”I've seen you move small things with your magic. Couldn't you make the stones fall out so there would be a hole? If you could, we might escape that way and make our way into town-to Wilfrid-without Bashcroft and his soldiers ever knowing.”
The bird shook his head. ”Sybil, I don't know if I can. I'm an old bird. My magic is borrowed and, at best, weak.”
”Odo, to stay here is certain death.”
”That's almost what I said to you the night Master first died.”
”You were right.”
”How would we find the monk?”
”Once we got out of here I'm sure we'd find a way.”
”And Alfric?”
”He needs to come with us.”
The raven bobbed his head a few times in thought. ”All right. I'll try. Save for one thing.”
”What?”
”Master has the stone.”
Sybil took a deep breath. ”Then we must take it from him.”
”Thorston will be furious when he returns to life.”
”Odo, if we wish to live we have no choice.”
”What if in taking the stone we cause him to waken?”
”I pray he won't.”
Odo ruffled his wings. ”Then pray and do it,” said the bird.
2.
Sybil approached the bed, her heart pounding as she stared at Thorston's covered body. She darted a nervous glance at Odo, braced herself, then reached out and took hold of the blanket's edge with the tips of three fingers. Even so, she vacillated.
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