Read Online The Crowfield Demon by Pat Walsh - Free Book Online Page B

though the echo of the tower’s fall still hummed inside his head.
    William ran across the cloister garth to the archway into the north alley. The monks were hurrying down the day stairs from their beds in the dorter, almost falling over each other in their panic. Peter stood nearby, his hair sticking up in untidy brown tufts, wringing his hands together and moaning, “God a’mercy,” over and over again.
    The south door of the church had been wrenched off its hinges and lay under a pile of rubble. Brother Mark’s writing desk had fallen on its side and the broken remains of his stool stuck out from beneath a heap of stones. The statues from the church were lined up along the alley wall, a crowd of pale ghosts beneath a thick coating of stone dust.
    William felt a flutter of panic in his chest. Where was the hob? Had Brother Walter been anywhere near the church when the tower had come down? Or was he hiding away, terrified but unharmed?
    Prior Ardo was suddenly there, white-faced with shock, taking charge. “Brother Gabriel, go and see if the chapter house has been damaged. Brother Stephen and Peter, see to the animals. The noise will have frightened them. Make sure that they are all right.”
    Peter and Brother Stephen set off along the passageway beside the chapter house, but returned a few moments later.
    â€œThe passage is blocked, Prior,” Brother Stephen said. “The roof has fallen in at the far end.”
    The prior’s jaw tightened. “Go the long way around.”
    Brother Stephen nodded for Peter to follow him, and they set off across the cloister garth, heading for the kitchen and the door out to the yard and animal pens.
    Brother Gabriel picked his way through the litter of stones to the chapter house door. He opened it and peered inside. The short passageway leading to the main chamber was cloudy with stone dust. Moving cautiously, the monk went in. He was gone for a minute or so and looked visibly shaken when he came back.
    â€œMost of the stained glass in the window is broken, Prior,” he said, “and there’s a hole in the roof, a very big hole, and stones everywhere.”
    William stared at the prior. A muscle twitched beside the monk’s mouth as he took all this in.
    â€œThe church, Prior,” Brother Snail said anxiously. “We have to see what damage has been done there.”
    Prior Ardo nodded, and when he spoke his voice was carefully calm. “Come with me, Brother.” He looked at the rest of the monks. “Everybody else, wait here.”
    The prior and Brother Snail covered their faces with the sleeves of their habits and stepped through the dark arch of the church doorway. Stone dust swirled out from the church on the damp air, looking like billowing smoke. The rest of the monks walked past the small crowd of statues to the far end of the north alley, away from the dust and debris, and started to pray, heads bowed and eyes closed. Brother Mark didn’t go with them. He stood beside his desk, muttering, “My books, all my pages, my work.” He turned to stare at the sacristy door, which was hanging by one hinge, then started to clamber over the rubble toward it.
    The back of William’s neck prickled. A sudden premonition of danger burned him like hot metal. “Don’t!” he called sharply as Brother Mark reached for the heavy ring handle. “Don’t touch the door!”
    â€œI have to save the books,” the monk said, glancing back at William, his dust-streaked face distraught.
    William darted forward, one hand reaching out to grab the monk’s habit, but he wasn’t quick enough. Brother Mark gripped the door handle with both hands and pulled hard. With a wrench of splitting wood, the second hinge gave way and the door fell forward, crashing onto the rubble and trapping the monk beneath it.
    William tried to haul the door aside, but it was solid oak studded with large iron nails and