The Crowfield Curse by Pat Walsh Page A

Stephen set off in the direction of the goat-pen. William watched him go and felt a flicker of anger. He hoped Master Bone would play his lute whenever he chose and send its golden notes dancing through the dark and silent rooms of the abbey.
    In the largest chest, there were coverlets of velvet in dark blue and crimson. William opened another chest and found sheets of fine linen.
    â€œMaster Bone must be very rich indeed,” William said, picking up a goose-down pillow and holding it against his face. Sleeping on bedding like this would be like floating on a cloud.
    The carter merely grunted. He did not seem in the least bit impressed by the finery around him.
    There were other boxes and baskets tied up with rope, whose contents William could only guess at.
    How could one man own so much? And why did some people have goose-down pillows and lutes, while others had nothing apart from their name and the clothes on their backs?
    By mid-afternoon, the cart was unloaded and Master Bone’s bed pieced together. The carter did not waste his breath asking Brother Martin for something to eat and drink before he set off back to Weforde. He merely commented to William, as he glanced at the kitchen door, “Miserable bugger, ain’t he?”
    William locked up the guest chamber and went to look for Prior Ardo, to return the keys. As he searched the abbey for the prior, all he could think of was the lute. He remembered something his brother Hugh had said, just before he had gone to London: “If you want something badly enough, Will, you’ll find a way to get it. Might take a while, but you shouldn’t stop trying, not until your last breath.” Hugh had been talking about making his fortune in a distant town, but his words applied just as well to William’s newfound desire to make music.
    William found the prior standing by the foot of the stairs to the abbot’s quarters, talking to Brother Gabriel. He caught the last snatch of their conversation before they noticed him.
    â€œ. . . we can’t afford to turn him away,” the prior said.
    â€œBut what shall we do when the others find out?” Brother Gabriel said, sounding flustered.
    â€œWe will worry about that when the time comes, which we must hope will be after he has paid the abbey the money he promised . . .” The prior saw William and broke off. He glared at the boy. “What do you want?”
    William held out the keys. “We’ve unloaded Master Bone’s possessions and I’ve locked up.”
    The prior took the keys. “Go about your work, and don’t let me catch you listening in on conversations that do not concern you again, or you will be punished.”
    â€œI wasn’t!” William said, stung by the unfairness of his words.
    â€œDo not argue with me, boy!”
    William scowled and walked away. He turned down the passageway beside the chapter house and set off across the garden. By the time he reached Brother Snail’s workshop, his anger had faded and he had begun to wonder what it was the prior and Brother Gabriel were trying to hide from the other monks.
    The hob was sitting by the fire, poking the embers with a stick and humming softly to himself. There was a small pile of hazelnuts on a hearthstone, their shells blackened from being roasted in the fire. He carefully chose four and held them out to William. “I saved these for you.”
    â€œThank you,” William said, touched by this generosity. Hazelnuts were the hob’s favorite food. He sat on the floor and cracked the shells with his teeth.
    â€œWhere did you get these?” William asked, hoping they weren’t from the abbey storeroom.
    â€œI found them.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œThey were hidden in a hole in an apple tree near the snail brother’s hut. By a squirrel.” There was a gleeful expression on his small face. “A hungry squirrel.”
    For a few minutes, they sat in