Shadlok was waiting for them when William and Brother Snail reached the chapter house.
“We are to go straight in,” the monk said. He looked up at Shadlok. “Are you sure about telling the prior what you really are?”
Shadlok’s gaze flickered to William briefly. “I am sure.”
Brother Snail nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”
They walked along the short passageway to the inner door of the chapter house. Brother Snail knocked and pushed it open. Prior Ardo was sitting on the stone seat beneath St. Michael’s stained-glass feet, the only part of the window left unboarded. He was alone. There was a lantern hanging by the door and a second lantern on the stone seat beside him. In the soft half-light, the prior’s face looked haggard and old. He beckoned them forward and stared at William for some moments.
“Do you know what is being said about you?” the prior said, his voice hard, his eyes cold. “That you torment Brother Martin in his sleep? That you are in league with the devil?”
William’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips and nodded.
“What have you to say about these accusations?”
“Prior,” Brother Snail began, but Prior Ardo held up a hand to silence him. His eyes never left William’s face.
“I want to hear what the boy has to say.”
William cleared his throat. “It’s not true, any of it. At least . . . Brother Martin might have dreamed about me, but that wasn’t any of my doing.”
“Nevertheless, something unholy is here amongst us, and both Peter and Brother Martin believe it has something to do with you.”
William glanced at Brother Snail. He had no idea where to begin or how much to say. His desperation must have shown in his face because the monk stepped forward and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I will tell you what we should have told you long before now, Prior, and I speak for us all. Will unwittingly released something the day he found the bowl in the side chapel. We believe that it is a fallen angel.”
The prior looked startled but let the monk continue without interruption.
“This creature was worshipped as a god before Christianity came to this land, in a grove that once stood on the site of our church. Only now, with the floods and the collapse of the tower, the fallen one is slowly but surely stirring again. William is entirely innocent in all this. He is no more in league with this demon than you or I.”
A muscle twitched beside the prior’s mouth and beads of sweat prickled on his upper lip. He wiped them away with a trembling finger. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke. “And how do you know this?”
The monk hesitated. “Some of it comes from the wise woman with the white crow, Dame Alys. Some of it was told to Shadlok by local people.”
Anger shook through the prior’s body. “You have spoken with that . . . woman?”
Brother Snail shook his head quickly. “No, Prior. The woman approached Will in the forest this morning.” He took William by the arm and pulled him into the circle of lantern light. “She cut his face. She wanted his blood to offer to the demon.”
A look of revulsion crossed the prior’s face as he stared at William. “This will not be tolerated,” he said hoarsely. “The woman is a heretic. She should be tied to a stake and burned to ashes.”
“To kill a weed, you must kill the root. The demon is the root, and we have to find a way to be rid of it,” Brother Snail said. “Then we can decide what to do about Dame Alys.”
Prior Ardo sat in stony-faced silence for a while, then flicked a finger toward William. “Why is the demon so interested in him?”
“I believe the fallen angel is drawn to the boy because his soul is pure,” Brother Snail said, “not because he is evil or damned. Do you remember what Abbot Simon said on his deathbed last winter, when Will helped carry him down to the church?”
The prior’s face was pallid in the lantern light. “He said the light shines brightly in the boy.” The prior had been paying attention that day, William realized in surprise.
Brother Snail put a hand on William’s arm. “I believe the fallen angel wants William’s soul. It is trying to turn us against him, but we must not be tricked into believing he is evil.”
The prior stared at William for a long time in silence. At last he nodded. “I believe you are speaking the truth.”
Brother Snail looked relieved.
“But do not call this . . . creature an angel,” the prior said, anger snapping in his eyes. “It is a demon.”
Brother Snail nodded. “As you wish, Prior.”
The prior turned to look at Shadlok, a look of dislike souring his expression. There was deep suspicion in his eyes.
“You are not human.” It wasn’t a question. “I have always known you were . . . different. You are a fay?”
Shadlok inclined his head slightly.
The prior’s sharp gaze flicked back to Brother Snail. “You have known his true identity all along?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t think to tell me?”
The monk said nothing, and that gave the prior his answer. None of them had trusted him enough to tell him the truth, and they had only done so now because they had no other choice.
“Why did you stay at the abbey after Master Bone died?” the prior asked. “Why didn’t you return to your own . . . kind?”
Shadlok nodded toward William. “I stay here because of him. I was bound to Jacobus Bone by an ancient curse. The same curse now binds me to the boy.”
“I see,” the prior said on a soft breath. “So that was what Abbot Simon meant, that the boy wouldn’t walk his path in life alone. It seems that, somehow, the abbot knew about you. Who placed this curse on you?”
“I was cursed by Comnath, the Dark King of the Unseelie Court. I am exiled from my own world, and my fate is bound to that of a human until I die. For now, it is this boy.”
The prior stared at him in silence while he took this in. “Why did the king punish you this way?”
Shadlok’s expression hardened. “He had his reasons.”
The prior’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pursue the matter. He turned to Brother Snail and asked in a hard voice, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
Brother Snail took the leather-bound history of Crowfield Abbey from the pocket inside his cloak and handed it to the prior. “There is hope we can find out more about the fallen . . . demon, and discover, perchance, a way to protect ourselves from it.”
The prior opened the book and leafed through the pages. He read the hastily written words at the foot of the final page and glanced up at Brother Snail. “What does this mean, the truth is at the saint’s foot? Which saint?”
“St. Christopher, Prior. The palm tree is his symbol. Whatever was hidden is not in the chapel, though. We’ve searched it thoroughly. But there was a statue of St. Christopher on the chancel screen,” Brother Snail explained, “and we’re trying to find it.”
“I see,” the prior said, gazing down at the book with a thoughtful frown.
“In the meanwhile, the bowl should be locked away,” Brother Snail said, but the prior didn’t let him finish.
“No! Absolutely not.”
“But, Prior, the bowl is at the heart of what is happening here. There were warnings carved into it.”
“About the demon, Brother, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the bowl itself, does it?” the prior said sharply.
“It’s a thing of evil,” Brother Snail said, an angry flush coloring his pale cheeks. “It was used to hold the blood of creatures slaughtered as offerings to the demon.”
“How can you possibly know that?” the prior demanded.
Brother Snail started to say something and then stopped. He glanced at William and gave the smallest shake of his head. William guessed the monk didn’t want any mention of the holey stone to be made. The prior had accepted William’s innocence in all this, but if he found out that William was using fay magic to look into the past, that would be quite a different matter. If he discovered that William had the Sight, then William would be in deep trouble. So Brother Snail said nothing.
The prior stood up. “The bowl is the only thing of any value that this abbey has left. It will bring pilgrims to our gates. Their money and gifts will help to rebuild our church. I will not hide it away on a superstitious whim. Do you understand? And as for this” — he handed the book back to Brother Snail — “we have more important things to do with our time than go searching for something that has, in all probability, long since disappeared. We know what is haunting the church. All we need to do is have faith in God, and pray for salvation.”
“The bowl is cursed, Prior!” Brother Snail protested.
Prior Ardo held up a hand. “That’s enough! I will decide what is best in this matter, Brother. Just be grateful that I believe what you’ve told me about the boy’s innocence and that I am allowing the fay creature to live within these walls with impunity. Do not push me any further!”
The prior turned to William. “I accept that none of our misfortunes are of your making, but others may not believe it so readily.” He glanced at Brother Snail. “I will tell the brethren the bones of what we have talked about today, but no word of any of this must leave the abbey or reach the ears of the stonemasons and carpenters. Is that understood?”
“As you wish,” Brother Snail said stiffly.
The prior looked at Shadlok. He seemed very wary of him. “You must find a way to break the curse binding you to the boy and leave the abbey. A house of God is no place for your kind.”
Shadlok’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward the prior. “If I knew the way to break it, I would have done so a long time ago,” he said softly.
The prior flinched and gazed at Shadlok as if he were a dangerous and unpredictable wild animal.
Which, William thought, wasn’t so far from the truth.
The prior hurried from the room, closing the door behind him with a bang that echoed around the walls.
Brother Snail’s face was white with anger. “I hope for his sake that the prior is not making the worst mistake of his life.”