picked up a stone. The moment he did, Odo leaped forward and pecked the boy’s hand sharply. “Leave it alone!” he squawked.
“Ow!” cried Damian, dropping the stone. He sucked his hand where the raven had pecked. “I was only going to look. You need not attack me so!”
Sybil scooped up the stones and put them in her purse. To Alfric she said, “Thank you. You have been a great blessing. Come,” she said to the raven. “We must decide what to do.”
8
Ignoring Damian’s angry looks, Sybil and Odo went halfway down the steps. When she sat, the raven perched on her knees and stared up at her, his black eyes intense.
“Odo,” said Sybil, her voice low. “If all of this is true, it’s we who shall decide if Master lives or dies.”
“You mean, decide to … kill him or not?”
“I don’t think we can kill a man who is already dead.”
“Then—keep him from resuming life,” said Odo. “I don’t know but it’s the same thing. Except it’s not certain he’ll return.”
“Odo, he swallowed another stone.”
“Perhaps he never really died.”
“You know he did,” said Sybil. “And the monk said if Master swallows all the stones, and thereby lives, I shall die.”
“In other words, if we don’t murder him—he will murder you.”
“That’s not fair. I say, let him die a natural death so I might live my natural life.”
“What about the gold?” said Odo.
“Is that all you care about?”
“Sybil, nothing is more important.”
“Why?”
“Only gold will buy the life we wish.”
Sybil shook her head. “I’m young. Shouldn’t I have a chance to live? I want to give both stones and book back to Brother Wilfrid.”
“And I say,” said Odo, “without gold, we might as well be dead.”
“Talk to the monk,” said Sybil. “Listen to him. You’ll see he’s right.”
“If you insist,” said the bird. “Just know that I’ll demand some reason to do what he wants.”
9
When Thorston slammed the door in Bashcroft’s face, the thwarted reeve remained in the courtyard. It was the second time he had been treated rudely by those in the house. It made him angrier than ever. He did consider making a third try immediately and demanding—by force of law and arms—that Alfric be returned to him. But Bashcroft hesitated: there was something odd about Master Thorston, something unsettling. It made him cautious.
The reeve consoled himself with the fact that he had at least confronted the man—proof that he was real—surely not dying. What’s more, the man had all but confessed to being an alchemist. As far as Bashcroft was concerned, even if he did not find the means of making gold, the least he should get was the gold already made.
He decided it was time to speak to Mistress Weebly again.
“As God is my witness,” the apothecary said to him, “the girl told me her master was close to death.”
“She lied. No man could be more alive. And I for one am glad of it. I shall make this Master Thorston’s gold my own, as well as his gold-making formula. My question to you, Mistress, is this: have you all the ingredients this recipe might require?”
“It was I who supplied him with all.”
“Mistress, I offer you this proposition: once I have the secrets, I shall share them with you. Of course, I shall take most of what you make, but you shall have some.”
“I’ll do so,” said the woman.
“Agreed. Then I shall bring my soldiers forward to lay siege to the house. The prospect of death is always frightening. Once I have the formula, I’ll hang Master Thorston and his maid, take the house, and keep everything within. Now, Mistress, one final point: your apprentice is in that house.”
“The rascal. I fear he overheard me when you were here. The very next morning—all on his own—he went off without a word. He has lost all favor with me.”
“Then he too must be hanged,” said the reeve. “On the morrow, I’ll demand they all come out. If they don’t,
“Ow!” cried Damian, dropping the stone. He sucked his hand where the raven had pecked. “I was only going to look. You need not attack me so!”
Sybil scooped up the stones and put them in her purse. To Alfric she said, “Thank you. You have been a great blessing. Come,” she said to the raven. “We must decide what to do.”
8
Ignoring Damian’s angry looks, Sybil and Odo went halfway down the steps. When she sat, the raven perched on her knees and stared up at her, his black eyes intense.
“Odo,” said Sybil, her voice low. “If all of this is true, it’s we who shall decide if Master lives or dies.”
“You mean, decide to … kill him or not?”
“I don’t think we can kill a man who is already dead.”
“Then—keep him from resuming life,” said Odo. “I don’t know but it’s the same thing. Except it’s not certain he’ll return.”
“Odo, he swallowed another stone.”
“Perhaps he never really died.”
“You know he did,” said Sybil. “And the monk said if Master swallows all the stones, and thereby lives, I shall die.”
“In other words, if we don’t murder him—he will murder you.”
“That’s not fair. I say, let him die a natural death so I might live my natural life.”
“What about the gold?” said Odo.
“Is that all you care about?”
“Sybil, nothing is more important.”
“Why?”
“Only gold will buy the life we wish.”
Sybil shook her head. “I’m young. Shouldn’t I have a chance to live? I want to give both stones and book back to Brother Wilfrid.”
“And I say,” said Odo, “without gold, we might as well be dead.”
“Talk to the monk,” said Sybil. “Listen to him. You’ll see he’s right.”
“If you insist,” said the bird. “Just know that I’ll demand some reason to do what he wants.”
9
When Thorston slammed the door in Bashcroft’s face, the thwarted reeve remained in the courtyard. It was the second time he had been treated rudely by those in the house. It made him angrier than ever. He did consider making a third try immediately and demanding—by force of law and arms—that Alfric be returned to him. But Bashcroft hesitated: there was something odd about Master Thorston, something unsettling. It made him cautious.
The reeve consoled himself with the fact that he had at least confronted the man—proof that he was real—surely not dying. What’s more, the man had all but confessed to being an alchemist. As far as Bashcroft was concerned, even if he did not find the means of making gold, the least he should get was the gold already made.
He decided it was time to speak to Mistress Weebly again.
“As God is my witness,” the apothecary said to him, “the girl told me her master was close to death.”
“She lied. No man could be more alive. And I for one am glad of it. I shall make this Master Thorston’s gold my own, as well as his gold-making formula. My question to you, Mistress, is this: have you all the ingredients this recipe might require?”
“It was I who supplied him with all.”
“Mistress, I offer you this proposition: once I have the secrets, I shall share them with you. Of course, I shall take most of what you make, but you shall have some.”
“I’ll do so,” said the woman.
“Agreed. Then I shall bring my soldiers forward to lay siege to the house. The prospect of death is always frightening. Once I have the formula, I’ll hang Master Thorston and his maid, take the house, and keep everything within. Now, Mistress, one final point: your apprentice is in that house.”
“The rascal. I fear he overheard me when you were here. The very next morning—all on his own—he went off without a word. He has lost all favor with me.”
“Then he too must be hanged,” said the reeve. “On the morrow, I’ll demand they all come out. If they don’t,
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