The Crowfield Demon by Pat Walsh

Master Guillaume said. He nodded to William. “Make yourself useful, boy, and fetch my pony.”
    William led the mason’s pony to the gatehouse, where Master Guillaume was waiting for him.
    â€œTell the prior to send word when the tower comes down, boy,” the mason said as he settled himself in the saddle, then settled his bag in front of him. With a flick of the pony’s reins, he set off through the gateway at a smart trot. “And remember to stay out of the church!” he called over his shoulder.
    William closed the gate and pushed the bolt home. He stood with his back against the timbers, a cold knot of dread in his stomach. It didn’t seem possible that the massive stone tower could fall down, but the mason seemed quite certain that it would.
    Something unholy was stirring in the abbey, William thought, something that seemed intent on destroying it. Shadlok and the hob had sensed its presence, and the forest fays were running away from it. Even the Dark King was reluctant to come anywhere near the abbey.
    The image of the crow-headed angel painted on the chapel ceiling slid into William’s mind and he shivered. He had the overwhelming feeling that it had been painted as a warning. The question was, what was it warning them against?

C HAPTER
EIGHT

    S hortly before dinner, William carried a pail of water to Brother Snail’s workshop. The monk was busy in the vegetable garden with Peter. He gave William a wave as he walked by.
    The hob was dozing by the fire and woke with a start when William opened the hut door. He yawned loudly and sat up.
    â€œIt’s good to see you working so hard,” William said with a grin.
    â€œI was helping the snail brother until the simple one turned up,” the hob said. He took something from around his neck and held it out to William. It was a white stone with a hole through it, threaded onto a length of red wool. “This is for you. It’s a holey stone and it’s powerfully magic,” the hob explained. “It lets you see through glamour. The king will not be able to disguise himself if you look at him through this.”
    William set the pail on the floor and took the hob’s gift. He held it up to one eye. To his astonishment, instead of the walls of the hut, he could see woodland. There was frost on the ground and the trees were bare, their branches a pattern of dark bones against the pale blue sky. William caught a fleeting glimpse of people, as pale as wisps of mist in the sunlight, walking between the trees, and he thought he heard the rhythmic thump of a drum. Startled, he dropped the stone. The hob grabbed it and held it out to him again.
    William looked at the stone in the hob’s leathery little paw and felt reluctant to touch it. “I saw people,” he said uneasily, “in a wood.”
    â€œIf you look through a holey stone, sometimes you can see the fay world beyond this one,” the hob said, “and sometimes you see things in this world that have long gone.”
    â€œWhich world did I see?” William asked.
    The hob thought about this for a moment. “I don’t know.”
    William took the stone and peered cautiously through the hole again. This time all he saw was the far wall of the hut. “The wood’s gone,” he said in surprise.
    â€œHoley stone magic comes and goes,” the hob said. “Keep it with you, and the magic will be there when you need it.”
    William pulled the woollen loop over his head and tucked the stone inside his undershirt. It was cold against his skin, and he touched it tentatively. Perhaps it would be better to let the holey stone keep its secrets to itself.
    â€œI have to get back to the kitchen to help serve up the dinner,” William said. “Thank you for the stone.”
    The hob regarded him thoughtfully for a couple of moments. “Don’t be frightened of the magic,” he said. “Use it wisely and it will