The Windvale Sprites Read online

  The man in the photo shop was right; above the door of the pub was a plaster plaque. Layers of paint had smoothed the outlines of the design but it could still be made out and it was the exact same pattern as the tattoo.

  Asa stared at the plaque for a long while, trying to work out what it meant. Well, it looked as though it was old, and whoever had put it there must have known about the fairies. It just so happened that at the precise moment Asa was pondering the Ferryman, George, the town drunk, was being thrown out of it, laughing all the way. George spent his mornings in the pub, his lunchtimes being thrown out of the pub and his afternoons sitting by the war memorial with a can of strong lager and a couple of grubby friends. He was always good-natured, even when being thrown out of the pub and, as long as you caught him early enough, could hold down a half-decent conversation, or at least half a decent conversation.

  Asa hurried over and offered a shoulder for the old man to lean on. They shuffled over to a bench and George slumped down, giggling at a long-forgotten joke.

  ‘How long have you been drinking in the Ferryman, George?’ asked Asa.

  ‘I only got there at eleven, and now they’re throwing me on the street, thass what I’m saying,’ slurred George.

  ‘No, I mean how many years? Has it been a pub for years?’

  ‘Used to belong to a madman, so they say, in the olden days.’ George pulled a face and waggled his hands next to his ears in order to show what a madman might look like.

  ‘Really?’ said Asa. ‘Who?’

  ‘’S the one what shot the birdie, the lil’ birdie,’ replied George.

  Asa was confused.

  ‘What birdie?’

  ‘Stuffed the lil’ birdie, didn’ he? In the libree. Poor lil’ birdie never hurt nobody.’

  Suddenly George looked as though he might burst into tears. Asa gave him a pound for a cup of tea from the money he’d saved from the photos and that seemed to cheer him up again.

  ‘The library, you say?’

  ‘’Sright, the lil’ birdie in the libree.’ George pointed in the general direction of the library.

  ‘Thanks, George! I’ll see you later.’

  Asa headed off across town with a feeling he might know what the old man was talking about. In the entrance to the town library was a large wooden plinth and on it was a stuffed bird display under an old glass dome. The Mereton Warbler was a pretty songbird that had been discovered on Mereton Heath in 1780. That was the first and only time the Mereton Warbler had been spotted anywhere near Mereton but that didn’t prevent it from being named after the town and becoming the town symbol.

  4

  The Mereton Warbler

  The man who spotted the Mereton Warbler just happened to have a shotgun about his person at the time, as he was hunting hares. He shot the bird, had it stuffed and presented it to the museum under its present glass dome. Now, the Mereton Warbler was not a large bird so after the shot had passed through there was not much left for the taxidermist to work with. He made do with sparrow feathers, which he painted with watercolours, but a lot of it was presumably guesswork. The result was strange and a little creepy to say the least.

  The corpse was crudely wired to a twig and at its skull. Several powdery moths lay dead at the bottom of the display. A tarnished brass plaque on the base proudly declared the name of the murderer:

  BENJAMIN TOOTH

  ALCHEMIST INVENTOR

  ASTRONOMER ASTROLOGER

  SCIENTIST

  7 CHURCH ST. MERETON

  12TH APRIL 1780

  The library, by this time, had reopened its doors although the large-print section was cordoned off with yellow tape saying DANGER – DO NOT CROSS in unusually big letters.

  It was a familiar place to Asa, who had visited it every week for as long as he could remember and knew pretty much every book in the children’s section.

  There were two librarians, Mr Trap and Mrs Fields, and the library was a very different place depending on who was working that day. Mr Trap was an irritating man who was probably quite young but dressed and behaved like someone much older. He had a moustache that didn’t suit him, an air of weary resentment and a superiority complex.

  He hated kids and if he could answer your question sarcastically, he would. But he treated the old-age pensioners with a cringey respect and talked to them about the weather and bus passes as if he wanted to be just like them. Asa found Mr Trap thoroughly nauseating and preferred the days when Mrs Fields was in charge.

  Mrs Fields was the opposite of Trap. She was an old lady (genuine) with a friendly nature and a hearing problem. In fact she was so friendly and so hard of hearing that any job would have suited her better than a librarian. Readers were constantly asking her to ‘shh’ as she sang or talked to herself, unaware of the noise she was making.

  Today was a ‘Mrs Fields day’ and there she was, behind the counter, clumsily knocking over a stack of books with her elbow.

  ‘Um, excuse me?’ he said. Mrs Fields looked up and a big grin spread across her face.

  ‘Hello, dear, how can I help you?’ she yelled and a few people looked up from their browsing.

  ‘Um, I want to find out about Benjamin Tooth, the man who shot the …’

  ‘Benjamin Tooth!’ Her grin spread wider and her voice got louder. ‘Alchemist, inventor, astronomer, astrologer …!’ She knew the brass nameplate by heart. A man in the Human Sciences section scowled and raised a finger to his lips.

  ‘Shhh!’

  ‘Sorry!’ she shouted and then turned to Asa and giggled as though she had been told off.

  ‘Follow me,’ she whispered, and led Asa to the local history shelf. She took down a large book on the social history of their town.

  ‘There will be something about him in here, dear.’ Her voice was slowly rising in volume again. ‘Look under his name in the index or under “Mereton Warbler” – he was the man who discovered it, you know.’

  ‘Do you mind?’ came a voice from the next aisle. ‘People are trying to read.’

  ‘Sorry!’ called the librarian then she winked at Asa and scurried back to her desk.

  Asa looked through the book and was quick to find a chapter on Tooth. It made interesting reading:

  Benjamin Tooth was a familiar figure in Mereton at the end of the eighteenth century. An eccentric Jack of all trades, he dabbled in astrology, herbal medicine, botany and more. Seen by many as a con artist (and by a few as a devil worshipper), Tooth’s main claim to fame is the discovery of the town’s symbol, the Mereton Warbler. In later life he spectacularly fell from grace when, during the Napoleonic wars, a chimpanzee was washed up on the beach in Inglesea. He managed to convince the townsfolk that the ape was, in fact, a French spy and they arranged a trial at which it was found guilty of treason and thrown in prison. Before long word got out and the people of Mereton and Inglesea became the laughing stock of the whole country.

  Because of this, Benjamin Tooth was mercilessly hounded by the townspeople until he eventually went to live in an old farmhouse on Windvale Moor. Though he kept the Church Street property and occasionally stayed there, most of his time was spent at his remote moorland retreat. There he continued his studies and would occasionally publish a scientific paper, copies of which he would then attempt to sell door to door. But after the chimpanzee incident nobody ever took him seriously again, and he even gained the nickname ‘Fairy Man’ after he started claiming to see elves and goblins on the moor.

  Asa’s heart leapt and he read on.

  Many years after Benjamin Tooth had been forgotten by the townsfolk and the Church Street house had been turned into a tavern, a huge trunk was found on the steps of the library and with it, the stuffed Warbler under its glass bell. A note explained that the trunk contained the entire body of Benjamin Tooth’s life’s work that was to be donated to the people of Mereton even though they had ill-treated him all those years ago. Unfortunately, whoever left the items forgot to leave a key for the heavily locked trunk and
, because of its great weight, it stayed where it was left for many years. The mounted bird can still be seen on display in the library entrance but the whereabouts of the trunk has long been forgotten.

  Asa slapped the book shut and stood up, then he sat down again, found the chapter and read it through for a second time just to make sure. Then he slapped the book shut and stood up again. He looked briefly around him as if he expected to see the trunk sitting, forgotten in a corner gathering dust. It wasn’t, so he wondered what to do next. The first thing to do, he thought, is to have a good think about what to do next. So he set out to find somewhere a bit quieter than the library, somewhere he could concentrate.

  As he walked home he sifted through the information he had just unearthed and thought about what it all meant. Most importantly, he knew he was not insane, and neither was Benjamin Tooth. Tooth was the only other person that knew about the fairies; the problem was he lived nearly two hundred years ago and, for that reason, was unavailable for a chat. Asa’s hopes rested on a locked trunk that had also been missing for almost two centuries. What were his chances of finding it? Where could it be?

  But he was almost certain he knew where to find the elves or goblins or whatever they were. Benjamin Tooth, so the book had said, lived on Windvale Moor, a wild, rugged area twenty miles from Mereton. The wind was blowing from that direction on the night the storm brought the creature into his garden. Windvale Moor was the place to look.

  5

  Windvale Moor

  The next day was a Tuesday and again Asa was free to do as he pleased. The previous night he had meticulously planned his trip to the moor, writing lists of equipment and provisions and secretly gathering everything together. At first light he crept downstairs, scribbled a feeble lie on a piece of paper explaining to his parents where he hadn’t gone, slipped out the back door and cycled off towards the south-west.

  As the sun rose and the morning started warming up the ride was a pleasant one and the town petered out around him, replaced by farmland. This in turn became sparser until, coming over the brow of a hill a little over two hours later, Asa saw the huge expanse of Windvale Moor stretching out before him.

  The moor seemed so vast at first that it made Asa feel dizzy. It fell away from him in a turbulent shaggy carpet of grasses and furze, then rose up another sweeping hill and away again on to the horizon. Through the bottom of this valley wound a narrow, fast-flowing stream. He felt like a tiny dot on the landscape but at the same time, very conspicuous, as though he were being watched.

  He stood in that one spot for a long time, just trying to get a sense of scale. He could hardly focus his eyes and felt as though, if he were to take a step on to the moor, he would be swallowed up. He took out his binoculars and spent some time watching a small herd of deer on a faraway hill, which helped bring things into perspective.

  Eventually he set off down the hill and stopped at the stream. There were no reeds or vegetation along the banks of the brook, the grass just ended as if a machine had cut the channel, but the water was crystal clear and sped over smooth pebbles. Asa spotted small brown trout swimming against the current and rising to snap at flies.

  He tasted the water, which was sweet and pure, and then carried on up the other side of the valley until he reached an overhanging bank where he sat down and took out his binoculars again. He stayed for an hour in this position scanning the valley below him for signs of life. As his eye became trained he started to pick out small birds in the vegetation, reed warblers and yellowhammers flitting from perch to perch, tiny brown or blue butterflies blown across the grass and pockets of grazing rabbits. But no fairies, so he continued over the hill and into a more rugged terrain with rocky outcrops and wind-stunted trees scattered across the heath.

  He found another sheltered position and settled down again to watch and wait. Far away across the moor he spotted a distant farmhouse and he wondered for a moment if this could be the remains of Benjamin Tooth’s isolated home.

  Just then his attention was grabbed by a bird of prey that crossed his view and soared along the ridge of a hill.

  The hobby, like a miniature peregrine falcon, skimmed above the waving grass before catching a thermal and rising a few metres, hanging in mid-air and scanning the ground for prey. Then it dipped its wings and dropped out of the current to swoop away and make another low pass above the heather. Asa had been watching the falcon’s nimble aerobatics for ten minutes when it suddenly dived behind a patch of heather and out of sight. It reappeared almost immediately, hovered above the spot and then plunged down again. Now Asa saw what it was chasing, as something scooted out from under the bushes and darted away. The hobby saw it and once again lunged with talons outstretched. The prey leaped clear into the air and hung there for the briefest of seconds allowing Asa a glimpse of what looked like a huge dragonfly.

  But the bird would not give up and was soon upon it, lashing out and sending it spinning to the ground. Asa leaped up and in an instant was tripping and stumbling down the hill, waving his arms and shouting for all he was worth. He was over a hundred yards away but had not gone further than a few steps before the hobby spotted him and took off across the moor. Not long after, Asa arrived at the spot and collapsed to his knees panting for breath. He hadn’t seen whether the bird had escaped with its prey and searched the grass around him.

  Just then he heard a buzzing noise in the gorse, like a bluebottle trapped in curtains. Asa stayed on his knees and slowly approached the bush. The buzzing stopped, and then started again, and he inched closer. Something was caught in the shrub, trying to get out, but he couldn’t get a clear view. He saw something move towards the top of the bush, it buzzed briefly, dropped and was silent. Asa leaned in and pushed the lower branches aside – a shape had got caught in the thorny twigs and buzzed frantically in panic. Asa reached towards it, parting the leaves and saw what the hobby had been after.

  It was unmistakably the same type of creature he had found in his garden, with the huge eyes and long limbs, but this one was very much alive. Asa looked it directly in the eye, and saw in its face an expression of shock and confusion. One of its wings was tangled in the thorns and as it pulled to get free it seemed to scream in pain though it made no sound. Asa extended a hand towards it that made the creature struggle even more violently until the wing tore and it darted out of reach. It flew up and away but immediately tumbled back into the long grass, the torn wing impeding its flight. It reappeared and seemed to find some strength as it flew some way before plummeting again out of sight. Asa glimpsed it a couple more times as it flitted away, zigzagging into the distance.

  He looked again in the gorse and found a shimmering triangle of wing snagged on the thorns. He carefully removed the shred and flattened it out on his hand. He wondered if it would grow back. The speed at which the thing had moved, even with an injured wing, was incredible and Asa realised that a butterfly net would be useless if he wanted to catch one. The only reason he had got so close this time, indeed the only reason he saw it at all, was because the hobby had spotted it first.

  As he got to his feet and started making his way back to his bike he thought about the missing trunk containing Tooth’s studies. How much had Tooth discovered? Had he managed to catch a live specimen? Maybe he had even befriended them. Asa had to find that trunk.

  6

  An Accident

  The next day Asa could hardly move his legs. The forty-mile bike ride had caught up with him and he hobbled around like a geriatric. He couldn’t bear to sit on his bike so he caught the bus into town and painfully limped the last stretch to the library.

  It was a Trap day. Inside he waited for the surly librarian to finish stamping somebody’s books and then he stepped up feeling like Oliver Twist about to ask for ‘more’.

  ‘I need to find the chest of Benjamin Tooth,’ he announced.

  Trap looked blankly at him.

  ‘Benjamin Tooth,’ offered Asa, ‘the man who shot the …’

  �
�I know who Benjamin Tooth was,’ said the librarian.

  ‘I need to find his trunk.’

  ‘You mean the trunk containing all his works?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The one that has been missing for two hundred years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Certainly, if you wait here I’ll go and get it for you …’ and he turned to go.

  Asa could not believe his ears.

  As it turned out, he was right not to believe them for Mr Trap was being sarcastic and turned back with a withering look.

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid the lost trunk of Benjamin Tooth is still lost at present.’

  ‘Have you looked in the cellar?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s probably in a dark corner where it’s been forgotten. In the cellar.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, can’t you go and look? Or I could go?’

  Mr Trap regarded him incredulously.

  ‘No, I can’t, and neither can you.’ Even though this wasn’t strictly sarcasm he said it in a sarcastic way and turned to stamp the next person’s books. Asa knew he would get nowhere with Mr Trap so thanked him sarcastically for his help and went to leave.

  What occurred next seemed to happen in slow motion. As Asa left the reading room and went to walk out of the building his shoe slipped on the marble floor. Clumsily trying to regain his balance he fell against the wooden pedestal and gave an almighty, flat-handed shove to the Mereton Warbler display case, which slid away from him and disappeared over the edge. Then came the unmistakable sound of two-hundred-year-old town history smashing on marble floor. Asa peered over the plinth at the disaster.