The Book Without Words (8 page)

“Mistress Weebly, knowing Master Thorston is in need of a green-eyed child, sent me. To learn his alchemy.”

Odo glared at Damian from Sybil’s shoulder. Damian, eyeing the bird with disgust, folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll answer you no more,” he said. “Lead the way.”

4

Spying into the courtyard from Clutterbuck Lane, Bashcroft could not believe what he had just seen: Damian Perbeck, Mistress Weebly’s apprentice, entering the alchemist’s house. Could that boy have green eyes too? Did that mean the apothecary was after the gold for herself?

Selfish wench. How dare she!

“Dura lex, sed lex,”
the reeve murmured. Then he swore an oath that he would wait and watch until doomsday if required. Indeed, to get that gold, he would hang them all.

5

Damian, following Sybil, reached the top step and gazed about the jumbled room. “Ah!” he exclaimed when he spied the old man. “Is this Master Thorston, the alchemist?” He went to the bedside. “What ails him?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Wake him and tell him I’m here.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Sybil.

“Then why are my green eyes wanted?” said Damian. “Who is this disgusting boy? Why is that dirty bird here?”

Instead of answering, Sybil went to Alfric and took the Book Without Words from him.

“Pray, sit,” she said to Damian.

Damian glared at her. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you may leave. Now.”

“What is it you wish of me?” he said.

“We require a reading. Can you do it?”

“Of course,” said Damian. “My tutor taught me.”

“Then sit.”

“I sit because I choose to,” said Damian as he sat, “not because you tell me.”

Sybil put the book on his lap. “Read this,” she said.

Damian contemplated a few pages. After a while he looked up. “Is this some kind of joke?” he said. “There’s nothing here to read. If you would just tell me your master’s gold-making secrets, I’ll be pleased to go.” He snapped the book shut and stood up.

Sybil didn’t know what to say.

“May I remind you,” said Damian, “I’m Mistress Weebly’s apprentice. As the town apothecary, she’s very powerful. Accordingly, know that I too am powerful.”

When Sybil only stared at him, the boy flushed and added: “In some ways, at least.”

Sybil snatched the book out of Damian’s hands and carried it to the bed. “Master,” she shouted, as if he were deaf, “we have two people with green eyes! They see nothing! Tell us what to do!”

When the old man made no response, Odo fluttered across the room and landed on the bed. Head cocked to one side, he studied the alchemist intently.

“Master,” Sybil cried again. “Speak to us. What shall we do?”

Odo hopped the length of the bed. Leaning forward, he stared fixedly at Thorston’s inert face, cocking his head first one way then another. “Sybil,” he said, “he’s not going to answer. Ever. Master Thorston is dead.”

6

Tightness came to Sybil’s chest. It was hard for her to breathe. Her head hurt. “God’s mercy,” she managed to whisper.

“Dead,” croaked the raven, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Gone to wherever treacherous men such as he belong. We are lost!”

Alfric and Damian gaped. “Did … did that bird
talk?”
asked Damian.

Odo, paying no heed, kept muttering, “Doomed. Cut off. Abandoned.” He leaped closer to the dead man’s face. “Cruel Master,” he croaked, “did you forget your promise? Now the reeve will discover your death. But it’s
we
who shall lose everything.” Livid, he pecked the old man’s nose.

“Stop that,” cried Sybil. “Have you no respect?”

“Respect!” cried Odo. “What respect had he for me? Or you, for that matter? None. He treated all with contempt. How long did I put up with him! What do I have for my pains?” he screeched. “Nothing. Less than nothing.”

“That raven,” said Alfric, “he’s truly talking.”

“Doesn’t he know,” said Damian, “it’s unnatural for beasts to talk?”

Odo leaned toward Sybil. “Idiot!” he screamed. “I warned you. Now what do you propose to do?”

“That talking is magic, isn’t it?” said Damian. Nervous, he moved toward the steps

Sybil whirled about. “Anyone can talk,” she cried. “You talk. I have yet to hear you say one intelligent word. Does that make you a bird?”

Damian’s face turned bright red. “You have no right to speak to me that way,” he said. “I’m your superior.”

“Does your master’s death mean that you don’t want me anymore?” said Alfric. “That I must go?”

“Come here, both of you,” Sybil snapped at the boys.

The two eyed one another. Alfric came forward. Damian stood his ground. “What for?” he demanded.

“It’s gold!” shouted Sybil, her frustration bursting forth. “The secret of gold-making is in this book. But Master told us it can only be read by someone with green eyes.” She flung the book on the table. Some of the apparatus flew off and smashed.

“God in heaven,” screamed Odo. “You’ve told them.”

“Well, then,” said Damian, a smile on his lips, “if
that’s
what it is, perhaps I may be of use.” He swaggered forward. Pushing Alfric aside, he bent over the book. After a few silent moments he looked up. “Nonsense” he said. “There’s still nothing here. Nothing.”

“You try,” Sybil said to Alfric.

Alfric wiped his face with his grubby fingers and leaned over the pages, staring hard. In a few moments he looked up. “Please, Mistress, there’s nothing more than last time.”

“Fooled,” screeched Odo. “Tricked. Deceived.”

Sybil, biting her lip to keep from screaming, went to the window and stared out. Bashcroft was lurking in a doorway, moving his feet up and down, beating his chest with his hands to keep warm.

“If your master,” Damian announced, “is dead, there’s little point in my staying. Anyway, there’s something grossly unnatural here. A dead man. A bird that talks.” He smirked. “There is nothing to stay for. I am leaving.” He moved toward the stairs.

“If you go,” said Sybil without looking at him, “I won’t share any of Master’s magic with you.”

Odo, opening his beak with surprise, looked around at Sybil from the bed.

“Ah!” said Damian, grinning. ‘Then you do know magic. I thought as much.”

“Of course I know
magic,”
cried Sybil, so upset she didn’t care what she said. She was glaring out the window, arms folded over her chest. “Haven’t I been the alchemist’s servant for …
years?
How could I not learn his secrets?” She turned to face him. “You may think I am nothing.” She gulped back tears. “I may not have been his kin, but he treated me with … great kindness. Love.”

“I don’t care how he treated you,” said Damian. “I’ll stay, but only if you show me some of your magic.”

Sybil darted a panicky look at Odo, who was sitting on Thorston’s head. He shrugged, lifted a claw, and muttered,
“Risan … risan.”
Next moment, the skull—Odo’s customary perch—rose into the air a few feet. Momentarily, it hovered, only to drop and shatter into bits.

As the boys stared with amazement Sybil darted a ferocious look at Odo. But after taking a deep breath, she turned to Damian and said, “There, you see,
my
magic. Now you are perfectly free to leave.”

“Did you truly do that?” exclaimed Damian, who had been watching Sybil, not Odo.

“Who else would?” said Sybil. Unwilling to look at Odo, she spun about and stared out the window. “And when you leave,” she called, “be free to greet Master Bashcroft. He’s waiting right outside.”

“Bashcroft?” said Damian. “Out there?”

“He watched you as you came.”

The boy paled. “He did? The reeve is the most despicable man in Fulworth,” he said. “I’ll have nothing to do with him.”

“He seems to be spying on you,” said Sybil.

“Please, Mistress,” said Alfric, “Let me stay. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t send me back to that man.”

Damian shoved Sybil aside and looked down into the courtyard at the reeve. “He bullies Mistress Weebly,” he said. “Which makes her bully me.”

“Sybil,” said Odo, “may I remind you: if Bashcroft discovers Master is dead, he will walk right in and take possession of everything. Including us.”

“Can’t you do something to keep him away?” Damian said to Sybil. “You’re a magician.”

Sybil peered down into the courtyard before turning back to Odo. “There is something we can do: we can bury him.”

“Bury
the city reeve?”
cried Odo.

“Don’t be silly,” said Sybil. “Bury Master Thorston.”

7

“What are you saying?” shrieked Odo.

“Did I not say it simply enough?” said Sybil. “We must bury Master in the cellar.”

“In the
cellar
?” cried Damian.

“Have you a cemetery there?” asked Alfric.

“But why?” said Odo.

“Because if we take Master’s body out of the building, his death will be noted—will it not?”

“Yes, but-”

“If his death is noted,” Sybil continued, “you said so yourself—we’ll lose all chance of learning anything. Bury him here, and no one need know. It will give us time to find his secrets.”

“May I remind you,” said Damian, “I did see him die. Anyway, you can’t just bury a person in one’s house. It must be in sacred ground.”

Sybil glared at him. “You’re perfectly welcome to leave,” she said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” returned Damian. “I’ve come to learn your master’s secrets. You’ve made it clear you have some. I’ve no intention of leaving without learning them.”

Knocking erupted on the front door.

“God’s mercy,” cried Odo. “If that’s another green-eyed child, I shall lie on my back and stick my feet into the air.”

Sybil, seeing Damian wince, said, “What are you frightened about?”

“It’s possibly my mistress come after me.”

“Why should she do that?”

“I’ve … I’ve run away.”

Alfric, who had been looking out the window, said, “Please, I think it’s Master Bashcroft.”

“That’s no better,” said Damian.

“This boy belongs to him” said Sybil, pointing to Alfric.

Damian looked on Alfric as if for the first time. “What do you mean
belongs
to him?”