The Book Without Words Part 8

"Mistress," Alfric whispered, "are you quite certain he's gone?"

Odo hopped onto the old man's body, lowered his head to Thorston's chest, and listened. "Nothing remains but his mortal husk," he proclaimed.

"His purse," said Damian. "You're not going to bury that, are you?"

"It's not wise to remove anything from a dead man," returned Sybil. "Indeed, his old blanket can be his winding sheet." Holding her breath, she leaned across the corpse, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his blanket, drew it over his body, and covered him head to toe.

"A s.e.xton should be doing this," said Damian. "Or some old woman from the church, whose duty it is to lay bodies out. And there should be a priest."

Sybil, ignoring the boy, said, "I'll lift him. When I do, best tuck it under." She braced herself, then plunged her arms under the body and lifted, taken aback by how light he was. "He's not heavy," she said. "Does a soul weigh so much?"

"I've heard say," said Damian, "the more one sins the heavier one gets."

"No wonder you are gross," said Odo.

"Slanderer."

Alfric tucked the blanket under, after which Sybil lowered the body. Thorston looked like a rolled-up rug.

"Now we must carry him down" said Sybil. Her voice trembled.

"You made that skull rise," said Damian. "Can't you make him float down?"

Sybil darted a glance at Odo.

The bird, standing atop Thorston's chest, gave a tiny shake of his head. "I shall direct this," he said. "Sybil, take his shoulders. Damian, his feet. Alfric, hoist the middle."

Sybil, trying to keep from being sick, put her hands under Thorston's shoulders and jerked up. The body farted.

"He lives!" cried Damian, bursting into laughter.

"Stop your mockery," said Sybil, trying to keep from laughing, too.

There were a few stumbles, but no one lost their grip, though Damian wheezed from his efforts.

"Go slower," said Sybil. "Or I'll fall." She took a step down, backward. The others pushed. "Not so fast." she cried, barely managing to keep from tumbling.

"This is the most dreadful thing I've ever done in my life," said Damian.

"Death is part of life," Odo snapped.

Sybil continued downward one step at a time-backward. Once, twice, she teetered and called out, "Careful!" When she did, Alfric pushed up from below. It brought on another body fart.

"G.o.d's miracles," cried Damian, "we should be taking him to a privy, not his grave."

Amid more laughter they reached the lower floor.

Once there, Sybil s.h.i.+fted the body so that Thorston's lolling head was close to the trapdoor. She moved down the ladder, pausing a third of the way.

"Lower him," she called up to the others as she braced herself. "I'll keep him from tumbling."

Grunting and grumbling, Alfric and Damian did as told. The body edged over the hole headfirst, then went down toward Sybil's reaching arms.

"Blessed Lord!" she screamed. "He's falling!"

Thorston's corpse slid down the ladder-b.u.mp, b.u.mp-over the rungs, and dropped at the ladder's foot directly into the grave, with a heavy thump thump.

They scrambled down the ladder after him. Sybil s.n.a.t.c.hed up the candle, and, heart pounding, peered into the grave. "G.o.d's mercy? she said.

"This is almost farcical," said Damian, grinning broadly.

"When you are older," said Odo, "you'll learn that farce is but tragedy in excess."

Alfric peered into the grave. "He's all twisted."

"Straighten him out," Damian said to Sybil.

Sybil, though irritated the boy was giving her orders, climbed into the grave.

"Don't step on him!" cried Odo.

Trying to keep from gagging, Sybil aligned Thorston's body so that he lay reasonably straight.

"Now what?" said Damian when Sybil had hauled herself out.

"He must be covered by earth," said Odo.

"Shall I speak what was said over my parents' grave?" asked Alfric.

"It would be kind," said Sybil.

Alfric took a deep breath and then said, "Rest in peace."

There was a moment of awkward silence. "Surely," cried Damian, "there was more said."

"That's all the priest spoke," said Alfric.

"Never mind," said Sybil, feeling ill. "We must finish." With Alfric's help, she started to shovel dirt over the body. As she did, she began to cry. Odo bobbed his head with grief. Alfric wept, too.

"Why are you crying?" Damian asked Alfric.

"I'm thinking of my parents."

"Being without parents hardly makes you special," said Damian. "I'm an orphan, too."

"As am I," said Sybil through a sob. "And Odo."

"Live long enough," said Odo, "and all become orphans."

Damian looked around. "It's a mercy your sermons are short," he said.

"My father," said Alfric, "was wont to say, 'The shorter the sermon, the longer the truth.'"

Sybil stepped back and wiped her hands on her frock.

"Are we finished?" said Damian.

"Yes," whispered Sybil, without strength to speak louder.

"Then I want my reward," said Damian. "And I want it now. Or I shall immediately go to the reeve. I'm sure he will be pleased to know what you've done."

12.

"Go up to the room," said Sybil, "and wait. I need to talk to Odo." Alfric went. Damian did not.

"Why can't you speak with me here?" he said.

"Just go!" Sybil cried.

Damian, seeing the fierceness of Sybil's face, climbed the ladder without further protest.

As soon as they were alone, a nervous Odo said, "What did you wish to say?"

"Even with their green eyes," Sybil whispered, "the boys can make nothing of that book. What are we to do?"

"I don't know," admitted Odo.

"I wish," said Sybil, looking the bird in the eyes, "I could trust you more."

"You can."

"Then tell me about Master. If I knew more about him, I might understand more about the gold. Odo, what kind of man was he?"

"What does it matter? Dead men do few deeds."

"How long were you with him?"

The bird hung his head. "I'm not sure."

"How can that be?"

Odo nodded a few time before saying, "Sybil, the truth is, I suspect I was something else before I was a raven."

"What do you mean?" said Sybil.

"I believe Master transformed me from something else."

"Was he a sorcerer, then?"

"Of a kind. And in transforming me, he also took my memory."

"Could he truly have done all that?"

"All his magic came from the book."

"Then have you no no idea what you were?" idea what you were?"

"I'd like to think I was a human," said the raven. "But, for all I know I could have been a ... cabbage. Or a goat. Master always liked goats."

"But why would he want you to be a raven?"

"I suspect it has something to do with the making of gold. At least, he promised me half the gold he made if I would stay with him and let him use my feathers. I even allowed him to clip my wings-my foolish way of a.s.suring him I wouldn't fly away. Sybil, he told me there was a man in York who could restore my wings so I could fly again. Of course, it would take gold; but I supposed I'd have a great deal."

"Odo, is flying all you seek?"

The raven dropped down a rung closer to the girl. "Sybil, look at me. I'm an old, useless bird. Unable to fly, I'm bound to this wretched earth. I talk only to you, an impoverished peasant girl. What a pair. I cannot fly-you are ignorant. Have you no desires?"

"You always say I'm nothing," said Sybil. "Perhaps it's true. But all the same, I want to live, though I can't say for what purpose. Perhaps being alive is enough. Odo, it was you who convinced me Master's gold-making secret could make a difference in my life. Now all we have are those stones. I put them in the chest."

"I suspected as much," said the bird. "I wish I knew their importance. But I still think we can find gold."

"Then," said Sybil, "are we agreed? Even though there appear to be no secrets to be learned from that book, we must make these boys stay, if only to keep the news of Master's death a secret. We'll use the time for searching. Have you no idea what's in these chests?"

"None."

Sybil saw the rock that Damian had used, and used it to strike the locks hard, one after the other. They held. "Have you ever seen keys?" she asked.

"Never."

"Perhaps it's magic that keeps them closed. But we need to look for keys, too." She glanced at the grave. "Oh, Odo, at least Master is dead and gone. They say it's wrong to speak ill of the dead. But if ever there were a more unpleasant man, 'twas he. A sullen, angry man. And he treated us poorly."

"And yet," said Odo, "if by gaining our freedom from him we lose our lives, what have we won?"

Sybil shrugged. "Sometimes I think I've never done anything that could be called true living."

"Gold!" cried the bird. "Put your faith in that!" And he went up the ladder.

Sybil looked at the Thorston's grave. Suddenly she remembered: the old monk had spoken of the Book Without Words. And he knew of Master. She made up her mind that if she had the opportunity, she would ask him more.