Free The Crowfield Curse by Pat Walsh

birds that she had tamed and cared for over the years. If anyone had a wart to charm away, or needed a love potion, or something darker, they went to Old Mabby. The villagers treated her with a fearful respect but her gift set her apart from them. Being different was rarely a good thing to be. William didn’t want the Sight and he definitely did not want to be different.
    But want it or not, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Dame Alys had called it a gift, but that remained to be seen. It could just as easily be a curse.

C HAPTER
TEN
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    T he foggy afternoon had darkened into a blind dusk when two horsemen rode along the track from Weforde and crossed the bridge to the abbey gates. Prior Ardo had ordered a lantern to be hung on a post beside the bridge and a second one in an upper window of the gatehouse, to guide the travelers to the abbey. William, instructed by the prior to watch for their arrival, ran to open the gate as soon as he heard the hollow ring of hooves on the bridge and the jingle of harness.
    The horsemen waited silently while William dragged the heavy gate wide enough to allow them to ride on into the yard.
    Burning with curiosity, William stared at the abbey’s guests. The first one through the gate was a man with long silver-white hair, tied back with a strip of leather. The lantern light picked out a web of scars on his pale face. He was slim of build and not particularly tall, as far as William could judge. It was impossible to guess his age. He might have been twenty years old, but he might just as easily have been forty. There was something timeless about the thin, sharp-boned face that William found unsettling.
    The man glanced down at William as he rode past. There was no friendliness in his expression. “Tell your prior that my master, Jacobus Bone, has arrived,” he said, his voice as soft and cold as a snowdrift.
    William looked at the second man and felt a shiver of unease. Master Bone wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up. His shoulders were hunched and he sat stiffly in the saddle, looking like a scarecrow propped up on the horse’s back. But what disturbed William the most was that he was wearing a mask. It was a brown leather mockery of a face with two holes cut out for the eyes and a fold of leather poking out like a beak over a hole for the nose.
    The horsemen rode on across the yard and disappeared into the fog. William closed and barred the gate and ran after them.
    The scar-faced man was helping his master to dismount. Moving slowly and awkwardly and gasping with pain, Master Bone leaned heavily on his servant as he half-slid, half-fell from his saddle.
    William watched them for a moment, then sprinted through the kitchen and collided with Brother Gabriel in the cloister alley.
    â€œOuf!” the monk grunted, grabbing William’s shoulder to steady himself. “Walk, boy, before you do someone a mischief,” he snapped.
    â€œMaster Bone and his servant have arrived,” William said quickly. “They’re in the yard by the kitchen door.”
    â€œFetch the prior. He’s with Abbot Simon. I’ll go and greet our guests.” The monk hurried away.
    William ran along the dark cloister to the stairs up to the abbot’s chamber. It was as black as a moonless night through the archway. He could hear the murmur of voices coming from upstairs: prayers for the dying, as the abbot’s life slowly ebbed away.
    Taking a deep breath, William set off up the narrow stone steps. He reached the landing at the top and knocked softly on the door. The praying continued. He knocked again, a little louder, and heard a shuffling sound in the room beyond. The door opened a crack and Brother Snail’s face appeared.
    â€œWilliam,” he said, sounding surprised. “What is it?”
    â€œMaster Bone is here.”
    Brother Snail nodded and turned to speak to someone in the room behind him. A moment later, the door opened