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most looked at sabriel and she saw hope in their eyes。 not blind faith； or plete confidence； but a gambler’s hope that a new horse might change a run of losses。
“the abhorsen who came when i was young；”
the elder continued—and sabriel saw that at his age； this would be his memory alone； of all the villagers—“this abhorsen told me that it was his purpose to slay the dead。 he saved us from the haunts that came in the merchant’s caravan。 is it still the same； lady？ will abhorsen save us from the dead？”
sabriel thought for a moment； her mind mentally flicking through the pages of the book of the dead； feeling it stir in the backpack that sat by her feet。 her thoughts strayed to her father； the forthing journey to belisaere； the way in which dead enemies seemed to be arrayed against her by some controlling mind。
“i will ensure this island is free of the dead；”
she said at last； speaking clearly so all could hear her。 “but i cannot free the mainland village。
there is a greater evil at work in the kingdom—that same evil that has broken your charter stone—and i must find and defeat it as soon as i can。 when that is done； i will return— i hope with other help—and both village and charter stone will be restored。”
“we understand；” replied the elder。 he seemed saddened； but philosophic。 he continued； speaking more to his people than to sabriel。 “we can survive here。 there is the spring； and the fish。 we have boats。 if callibe has not fallen to the dead； we can trade； for vegetables and other stuffs。”
“you will have to keep watching the breakwater；”
touchstone said。 he stood behind sabriel’s chair； the very image of a stern bodyguard。
“the dead—or their living slaves— may try to fill it in with stones； or push across a bridge。 they can cross running water by building bridges of boxed grave dirt。”
“so； we are besieged；” said a man to the front of the mass of villagers。 “but what of this dead thing already here on the island； already preying upon us？ how will you find it？”
silence fell as the questioner spoke； for this was the one answer everyone wanted to hear。 rain sounded loud on the roof in the absence of human speech； steady rain； as had been falling since late afternoon。 the dead disliked the rain； sabriel thought inconsequentially； as she considered this question。 rain didn’t destroy； but it hurt and irritated the dead。 wherever the dead thing was on the island； it would be out of the rain。
she stood up with that thought。 thirty…one pairs of eyes watched her； hardly blinking； despite the cloying smoke from too many lanterns； candles and tapers。 touchstone watched the villagers； mogget watched a piece of fish； sabriel closed her eyes； questing outward with other senses； trying to feel the presence of the dead。
it was there—a faint； concealed emanation； like an untraceable whiff of something rotten。
sabriel concentrated on it； followed it； and found it； right there in the shed。 the dead was somehow hiding among the villagers。
she opened her eyes slowly； looking straight at the point where her senses told her the dead creature lurked。 she saw a fisherman； middleaged； his salt…etched face red under sun…bleached hair。 he seemed no different than the others around him； listening intently for her reply； but there was definitely something dead in him； or very close by。 he was wearing a boat cloak； which seemed odd； since the smoking shed was hot from massed humanity and the many lights。
“tell me；” sabriel said。 “did anyone bring a large box with them out to the island？ something； say； an arm…span square a side； or larger？ it would be heavy—with grave dirt。”
murmurs and enquiries met this question； neighbors turning to each other； with little flowerings of fear and suspicion。 as they talked； sabriel walked out through them； surreptitiously loosening her sword； signaling touchstone to stay close by her。 he followed her； eyes flickering across the little groups of villagers。 mogget； glancing up from his fish； stretched and lazily stalked behind touchstone’s heels； after a warning glare at the two cats who were eyeing the half…consumed head and tail of his fishy repast。
careful not to alarm her quarry； sabriel took a zigzag path through the shed； listening to the villagers with studied attention； though the blond fisherman never left the corner of her eye。 he was deep in discussion with another man； who seemed to be growing more suspicious by the second。
closer now； sabriel was sure that the fisherman was a vassal of the dead。 technically； he was still alive； but a dead spirit had suppressed his will； riding on his flesh like some shadowy stringpuller； using his body as a puppet。 something highly unpleasant would be half…submerged in his back； under the boat cloak。 mordaut； they were called； sabriel remembered。 a whole page was devoted to these parasitical spirits in the book of the dead。 they liked to keep a primary host alive； slipping off at night to sate their hunger from other living prey—like children。
“i’m sure i saw you with a box like that； patar；” the suspicious fisherman was saying。 “jall stowart helped you get it ashore。 hey； jall！”
he shouted that last； turning to look at someone else across the room。 in that instant； the dead…ridden patar exploded into action； clubbing his questioner with both forearms； knocking him aside； running to the door with the silent ferocity of a battering ram。
but sabriel had expected that。 she stood before him； sword at the ready； her left hand drawing ranna； the sweet sleeper； from the bandolier。
she still hoped to save the man； by quelling the mordaut。
patar slid to a halt and half…turned； but touchstone was there behind him； twin swords glowing eerily with shifting charter marks and silver flames。 sabriel eyed the blades in surprise； she hadn’t known they were spelled。 past time she asked； she realized。
then ranna was free in her hand—but the mordaut didn’t wait for the unavoidable lullaby。
patar suddenly screamed； and stood rigid； the redness draining from his face； to be replaced by grey。 then his flesh crumpled and fell apart； even his bones flaking away to soggy a