CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

The snow stopped shortly before dawn. The walls of the abbey were stark and gray against the dazzling brilliance of the garden and sheep pasture as William trudged through the snowdrifts to the infirmary. His breath clouded around his head. A bell rang out, calling the monks to the church for prime. Later that morning, after mass and the daily chapter meeting, Master Bone was to be buried.

William let himself into the infirmary and closed the door behind him quickly, so as not to let the cold air into the room. Not that it would have made a great deal of difference. It was almost as cold inside as it was outside.

Brother Odo was huddled on his stool in front of the altar at the far end of the infirmary, wrapped in a thick woollen cloak. He had his back to the rest of the chamber. He did not turn around or appear to be aware that William was there.

The old monk had placed wooden screens on either side of Brother Snail’s bed to block drafts and hold in the warmth from the brazier. Apple-wood smoke scented the air and drifted up to the rafters.

William stood beside Snail’s bed. The monk was lying curled over on his side, with one hand under his chin, snoring softly. There was a faint flush of color in his cheeks. William looked down at him for a few moments, and then reached out and gently shook his shoulder.

“Brother Snail?” he said.

The monk’s eyelids fluttered and opened. The blue eyes gazed vaguely around and settled on William.

“Will, how good to see you, lad.” His voice was weak but his smile was wide.

William grinned back, hugely relieved.

There was a scrabbling in the straw beneath the bed and the hob appeared. He climbed up to sit beside the monk. His fur was sleek and as glossy as a chestnut. It seemed the hob had passed the time grooming himself. His tail curled over Brother Snail’s shoulder.

“The snail brother started to wake at dusk yesterday. I gave him some water.” The hob patted Snail’s cheek with a small, leathery paw. “He is much better now.”

William sat on the edge of the bed, his chest swelling with happiness to see his friend none the worse for Shadlok’s spell.

“Brother Walter tells me Master Bone is dead,” Snail whispered. “What happened, Will?”

William told the monk and the hob everything that had happened in the Hollow. They listened in silence.

“You found the angel,” Brother Snail said, a look of elation in his eyes, “and it is alive. Will, that is wonderful! A miracle.”

William nodded, smiling at the monk’s obvious delight.

“How I envy you, seeing such a thing. And its wings? What did they look like?” There was an almost childlike excitement in Brother Snail’s voice.

“They reached from its shoulders to its feet, and were as white as swans’ wings,” William said.

“How beautiful,” Brother Snail sighed. “You are truly fortunate to have seen it for yourself.” A little of the light left his eyes. “I am sorry for Master Bone, but I think he must have suffered terribly all these years. He is at peace now.”

William stood up. He was reluctant to leave, but he still had a day’s work ahead of him. “I’ll come and see you later, and bring you some food.” He saw the expectant look on the hob’s face and grinned. “Both of you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Will,” Brother Snail said, struggling to sit up. William reached out to help him, and wrapped a blanket around the monk’s bowed back. “I am feeling much better and I have work to do, potions and salves to prepare against winter chills and aches.”

“You should stay here,” William said. “It’s a bitter day and you need to get your strength back.”

“If I waited for that to happen, I’d never leave my bed,” Snail said wryly. “No, I’ll be all right, Will, and I have Brother Walter to help me.”

William knew it was pointless to argue with the monk. He could be very stubborn when he wanted. “Very well, but I’ll bring some bread and cheese and warm milk to the workshop.”

William pulled on his mittens and walked to the door. The hob scurried after him.

“Is the forest safe again? Do you think the nangel will guard it against the Dark King and his followers?” the hob asked, the bright green-gold eyes searching William’s face for reassurance.

William’s heart sank. Did the hob want to return to Foxwist? Now that his leg was better, there was no reason for him to stay at the abbey. He would miss him sorely.

“As safe as it can ever be, but I don’t know if the angel will stay to watch over it,” he said.

A worried look puckered the hob’s small face. “Do I have to go back to the woods?” he asked, the words tumbling out in a rush.

William smiled. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“The snail brother needs me to help him, and the old pig asked me to keep her company sometimes . . . ,” the hob hurried on, his paws twisting together and his tail curling and flicking straight in his anxiety to convince William of his need to stay at Crowfield.

“You are welcome to stay for as long as you want,” William said gently. “I want you to stay.”

“Then I will,” the hob said, sounding more cheerful.

Brother Walter went back to Brother Snail’s bed and William could hear the two of them talking quietly.

In the distance, the bell for mass tolled. It was almost time to bury Master Bone.