him,” said Odo.
“But there must be some difference between being alive or dead,” said Damian.
Sybil shrugged. “In truth, my life has been a kind of death.”
“And my parents,” offered Alfric, “though they are dead, they still live in my thoughts.”
“You’re just playing with words,” sneered Damian.
“Our lives,” said Odo, “don’t give us much else with which to play.”
“I’d rather play with gold,” said Damian.
Sybil went to the window, leaned on one arm, and looked out. Though the rain was still falling on the courtyard, soldiers had resumed working. She grasped now what they were building with the wooden beams: a gallows. Recalling the reeve’s words, she had little doubt it was meant for them all. When he returned, he would ask to speak to Thorston. What were they to say? What if he discovered what had happened? All would be lost: the book, the stones—and them. She looked at the two stones that remained in her hand. She supposed she could just take them and the book and give them to the monk. But she needed to speak to Odo first, alone.
She turned around to face the others. “We must bury Master again.”
“Why?” asked Alfric.
“To keep the reeve from knowing what has happened.”
“Just don’t tell him” suggested Damian.
“Damian, a gallows has been erected in the courtyard.”
“It has?” cried the boy. He and Alfric rushed to the window and looked out.
“Why is it there?” asked Alfric.
“To take the reeve at his word,” said Odo, “he means to hang Master Thorston.”
“But he’s already dead,” said Damian.
As Sybil put the stones back in the chest she said, “You may be sure that if the reeve learns of Master’s death, he’ll hang us.”
“Us!” cried Damian.
“I fear Sybil is right,” said Odo. “Another burial is necessary.”
“But let us pray that this time he doesn’t fart,” said Damian.
“Or fall down the ladder,” added Alfric.
5
It was both easier and harder to bury Thorston the second time. There were no body noises, and the hefting was done with greater sureness. But Thorston, in becoming younger, had become heavier. Still, once they had carried the body to the basement, they were glad to discover that having previously dug the grave (and Thorston having dug himself out), they had a much easier time putting him back in.
“A used grave is less grave,” suggested Odo.
“But still not gravy,” said Damian, who had joined in the work this time. “Perhaps the first time you didn’t dig deep enough.”
“My fear,” said Sybil, “is that for Master, no grave is deep enough.”
They shoveled the dirt back. When done, Alfric asked, “Please, Mistress, shall I repeat my words?”
“If you would be so good.”
“Rest in peace,” said Alfric.
“And be content to stay this time!” Damian shouted. “I don’t want to do this again.”
“Now,” said Odo, “we must resume our search. And with the reeve sure to return soon, we’d best be fast and thorough.”
The boys started to ascend the ladder. Sybil did not move. “I shall stay a moment longer,” she said.
“Why?” demanded Damian.
“By Saint George, Master Damian, it’s not for you to be always asking my whys and wherefores. I wish to speak to Odo. Be gone with you!”
Damian started to protest, but changed his mind when he took in Sybil’s angry glare. He went up the ladder. Alfric went too.
Odo turned to Sybil. “What is it this time?” he said with a sigh.
6
“Odo,” began Sybil, “it’s those stones. You saw him swallow one. It is they that allow him to come back to life.”
“How could that be?”
“I’m not sure, but the way to make and take them is to be found in the Book Without Words. And since Master swallowed another stone, he’s bound to return.” She considered the grave with discomfort.
“What makes you so certain?”
“A Brother Wilfrid has come to Fulworth. Years ago, Master—when my age—stole the
“But there must be some difference between being alive or dead,” said Damian.
Sybil shrugged. “In truth, my life has been a kind of death.”
“And my parents,” offered Alfric, “though they are dead, they still live in my thoughts.”
“You’re just playing with words,” sneered Damian.
“Our lives,” said Odo, “don’t give us much else with which to play.”
“I’d rather play with gold,” said Damian.
Sybil went to the window, leaned on one arm, and looked out. Though the rain was still falling on the courtyard, soldiers had resumed working. She grasped now what they were building with the wooden beams: a gallows. Recalling the reeve’s words, she had little doubt it was meant for them all. When he returned, he would ask to speak to Thorston. What were they to say? What if he discovered what had happened? All would be lost: the book, the stones—and them. She looked at the two stones that remained in her hand. She supposed she could just take them and the book and give them to the monk. But she needed to speak to Odo first, alone.
She turned around to face the others. “We must bury Master again.”
“Why?” asked Alfric.
“To keep the reeve from knowing what has happened.”
“Just don’t tell him” suggested Damian.
“Damian, a gallows has been erected in the courtyard.”
“It has?” cried the boy. He and Alfric rushed to the window and looked out.
“Why is it there?” asked Alfric.
“To take the reeve at his word,” said Odo, “he means to hang Master Thorston.”
“But he’s already dead,” said Damian.
As Sybil put the stones back in the chest she said, “You may be sure that if the reeve learns of Master’s death, he’ll hang us.”
“Us!” cried Damian.
“I fear Sybil is right,” said Odo. “Another burial is necessary.”
“But let us pray that this time he doesn’t fart,” said Damian.
“Or fall down the ladder,” added Alfric.
5
It was both easier and harder to bury Thorston the second time. There were no body noises, and the hefting was done with greater sureness. But Thorston, in becoming younger, had become heavier. Still, once they had carried the body to the basement, they were glad to discover that having previously dug the grave (and Thorston having dug himself out), they had a much easier time putting him back in.
“A used grave is less grave,” suggested Odo.
“But still not gravy,” said Damian, who had joined in the work this time. “Perhaps the first time you didn’t dig deep enough.”
“My fear,” said Sybil, “is that for Master, no grave is deep enough.”
They shoveled the dirt back. When done, Alfric asked, “Please, Mistress, shall I repeat my words?”
“If you would be so good.”
“Rest in peace,” said Alfric.
“And be content to stay this time!” Damian shouted. “I don’t want to do this again.”
“Now,” said Odo, “we must resume our search. And with the reeve sure to return soon, we’d best be fast and thorough.”
The boys started to ascend the ladder. Sybil did not move. “I shall stay a moment longer,” she said.
“Why?” demanded Damian.
“By Saint George, Master Damian, it’s not for you to be always asking my whys and wherefores. I wish to speak to Odo. Be gone with you!”
Damian started to protest, but changed his mind when he took in Sybil’s angry glare. He went up the ladder. Alfric went too.
Odo turned to Sybil. “What is it this time?” he said with a sigh.
6
“Odo,” began Sybil, “it’s those stones. You saw him swallow one. It is they that allow him to come back to life.”
“How could that be?”
“I’m not sure, but the way to make and take them is to be found in the Book Without Words. And since Master swallowed another stone, he’s bound to return.” She considered the grave with discomfort.
“What makes you so certain?”
“A Brother Wilfrid has come to Fulworth. Years ago, Master—when my age—stole the
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