Free The Crowfield Demon by Pat Walsh Page B

cart,” William said.
    Brother Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “Then you would be better off looking for it in the cart shed, boy, and not in the vegetable garden.”
    To William’s relief, Brother Martin wasn’t in the kitchen. He found Brother Snail in the cloister garth, emptying out a bowl of water, red with Brother Mark’s blood.
    â€œHave you seen Brother Walter?” William asked anxiously.
    â€œNo, not since yesterday afternoon,” Brother Snail said, a frown creasing his tired face. “Have you looked in the workshop?”
    William nodded. “He’s not there.”
    â€œI am sure he is hiding somewhere and is quite safe.” The worry in his voice belied his words. He took a bloodied rag from the bowl and wrung it out. “Let me know if . . . when you find him.”
    â€œI’ll keep looking,” William said, trying to stay calm. “He has to be somewhere.”

C HAPTER
ELEVEN

    â€œW ell?” Shadlok folded his arms and stared at William. He had a way of looking at you sometimes, as if he could smell something unpleasant, which made William’s hackles rise.
    â€œWhat?” William scowled at him.
    â€œThe handcart? The one you went to fetch some time ago?”
    â€œOh, that,” William muttered.
    â€œAnd the pail. You forgot that, too.”
    â€œYes, all right, I’ll go and fetch them now.” William turned to leave the chapter house, then looked back at the fay. “I can’t find Brother Walter anywhere.”
    Shadlok straightened up. He was quiet for a moment, and William thought he caught a brief flicker of worry in the fay’s eyes. “Perhaps he is with the pig. He often spends time with her.”
    â€œI’ll look on my way past,” William said.
    â€œBring the cart back with you this time,” Shadlok said.
    â€œAnd the pail,” William said under his breath as he set off along the passageway.
    â€œAnd the pail,” Shadlok called after him.
    William grinned.

    Shadlok’s guess proved to be correct. The hob was in a corner of Mary Magdalene’s sty. The pig was lying on her side in her mud wallow, grunting softly while the hob chittered beside her and scratched her back with a pawful of straw.
    Glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anybody within earshot, William leaned over the fence and said, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was worried you might have been hurt when the tower fell.”
    â€œI was in the snail brother’s hut,” the hob said, scrambling to his feet and coming over to the fence. He climbed up to sit on the gatepost and looked pleased to see William.
    â€œIs she all right?” William asked, nodding to the pig.
    â€œThe noise frightened her, but she is calm now. The sheep are still unsettled and the horse is nervous. She is old and the noise gave her a terrible fright. The hens have run away to hide.”
    â€œHow did they get out of the henhouse?”
    The hob looked guilty. “They would have hurt themselves in their panic to escape, so I opened the door and they ran into the garden. The brother man who tends the animals has gone to look for them.”
    â€œI suppose we should be grateful you didn’t set the goats free, too.”
    The hob looked away. William stared at him suspiciously. “You didn’t, did you?”
    The hob lifted a shoulder and said nothing.
    William stepped away from the sty and looked over at the goat-pen. The gate was ajar and the pen was empty.
    â€œIt might be a good idea if you helped Brother Stephen to find them,” he said, hiding a smile.
    The hob nodded and climbed down from the fence post.
    There was a loud angry yell from the direction of the vegetable garden. The hob’s face split in a wide grin. “I think the brother man has found them by himself.”
    â€œYou’d better hope Brother Stephen never catches up with you .”
    â€œHe