The Windvale Sprites (8 page)

He stayed motionless and pretended to be asleep until the creature dropped back down and joined its mate. For ten minutes Asa hardly dared to breathe as the two sprites continued to nervously dart close to the bucket and then back into the shadows, into the air and then back under cover. Each time one approached the trap it got a bit closer while the other stayed high and kept watch. Eventually one of them, in a lightning move almost too quick to see, dipped down and scooped the coin from the ground before they both disappeared into the long grass.

It was twenty minutes or so before Asa spotted them again, approaching the site from a different direction. Again they seemed to be building up their confidence, one edging close while the other kept watch.

Asa felt the fishing wire in his hand, which he had tied around his wrist to save losing it. He realised that he would have a split second to react when the creatures made their move, and if he messed it up he would not get another chance.

Suddenly something in the sprites’ movement told him they were ready. Very deliberately one of them rose high into the air, hung there for a second and, with an acrobatic flip, seemed to signal the all-clear. The second sprite whipped from its hiding place and straight into the bucket. Asa reacted as if given an electric shock, he leapt to his feet, hauled the fishing line back over his head and, without waiting to see if it had worked, started racing down the hill.

As he ran he could see a flurry of movement around the bucket. One of the sprites circled it frantically, trying to lift the fallen lid. Tripping and stumbling as he ran Asa found himself shouting ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ and waving his arms. He saw the second sprite look up and flit this way and that in a confused panic. It pulled at the side of the bucket, it whisked into the air and down again, it threw itself against the lid and scratched at the wood. Asa was only a dozen strides away when it turned and looked briefly towards him, whirled around and was gone.

Asa stopped a few feet short of the bucket and sank to his knees gasping for breath. Excitement and exertion beat in his chest and ears and he felt so weak he thought he would pass out. He tried to calm down. Pull yourself together, he told himself and counted to ten or twenty or however long it took to come to his senses.

He edged forward on his knees towards the sprung trap. From within the bucket came the sound of an angry swarm of bees whipping around and Asa knew he had his prize.

Not quite knowing what to do next he found himself laying his hands flat on the lid and saying ‘Shhh’. Instantly the creature inside was silenced. Asa bent his ear close. Inside the bucket the terrified creature seemed to be listening just as intently.

He started to slide the lid back, a millimetre at a time until a thin crescent of daylight shone into the pale. He peered in close but it was still too dark to see. Maybe the sprite was under the lid. Ever so carefully he pushed it back further and the gap got bigger. Then, without warning the sprite bolted out through the crack and into Asa’s face. He fell back with a cry and threw his hands up grabbing hold of the creature as it batted about, clinging to his nose, blinded by the sunlight. He cupped his hands around it and pulled it away from his face. The transparent wings stuck out the top of his fist and buzzed wildly whilst its body writhed and wriggled in his fingers. He almost had it safely back in the bucket when he felt a stabbing pain in his right hand so sudden and intense that he heard a whistling in his ears. Despite this he managed to plunge the creature into the pail and slide the lid back across before succumbing to the pain. He rolled around on the grass, squeezing his hand and repeating ‘ow, ow, ow, ow’, which seemed to help a little until the ringing in his ears subsided and he dared to look at his wound.

In the middle of his right palm was a minuscule fleck of blood atop a tiny raised bump, not the gaping flesh wound he had been expecting, and he soon realised that he had been stung rather than bitten. His hand was throbbing and, not knowing how poisonous the sting might be, he decided to get moving.

Most, if not all, of his stuff could stay hidden on the moor. There was no need to take the tent and stove home if he was going to be coming back soon to collect more specimens. Using the fishing wire he made sure the lid was securely tied to the bucket and he pulled the whole thing out of the rabbit hole. He then gripped the bucket in front of him with both arms and started walking back across the valley to the tent. The sprite was alternately still and silent or manically buzzing as Asa negotiated the bumpy ground.

He packed the tent quickly and rolled up the sleeping bag, stuffed everything else into the bag and pushed the lot way back under a craggy rock. Then he piled more rocks in front and on top of the bundle until it was well hidden. So well, in fact, that Asa took a few minutes to remember some landmarks and features so that he would find the spot on his return. Then, gripping the bucket tightly, he started back to his bike and from there, the slightly wobbly cycle home.

By the time he got home it must have been half past nine and, with Mum and Dad not yet back from visiting his grandparents, the house was silent and dark.

He dumped his stuff in the house and then took the bucket with the sprite out to the garage. Dad proudly called it a ‘tandem’ garage, that is, it had space for two cars parked end to end. They had never owned more than one car though and the back end of the garage rapidly filled up with ‘things to take to the dump’. In here was Asa’s old guinea-pig hutch where he intended to house the sprite for the night. It was a large cage with a strong wire-mesh front and separate sleeping compartment at one end.

He placed the entire bucket in the hutch, closed the front and then, poking a bamboo cane through the wire mesh he pushed the lid off the bucket.

At first there was no movement and Asa began to worry that the creature had not survived the journey. But suddenly and without warning it shot out and batted about wildly inside the hutch for a few seconds before disappearing into the sleeping quarters out of sight.

Asa returned indoors and went to his room where he pulled out the second of Tooth’s
leather-bound
journals.

On the first page a painting of the moor in all its wild and rugged beauty. Scrawled at the side in Tooth’s spidery writing was a poem:

The verse surprised Asa who imagined Tooth far too self-obsessed to spend time being poetic. Perhaps there was a sensitive side to the old rogue after all.

But as he read on those hopes slowly began to fade.

After his first successful capture it seemed Tooth had no trouble trapping further specimens and as Asa turned the pages he saw numerous drawings of them, male and female, young and old.

Notes and observations were scribbled all around the pictures. One in particular got Asa’s attention, an arrow pointed to the sprite’s foot:

Asa wished he’d at least read that bit before he’d gone to the moor.

On the next page was the heading:

This was the information Asa was most keen to find out so he eagerly read on:

 

And that was it. Benjamin Tooth was only concerned with making a name for himself by discovering a new species and being hailed a great scientist. He simply was not interested in the welfare of the sprites or probably even keeping the creatures alive. The facing page had a pencil illustration of a frightened sprite clinging to the inside of an ornate canary cage. It was a stark image compared to the watercolours but the next piece of writing confirmed his fears:

Each gruesome description was accompanied by an equally grizzly illustration; twisted bodies in glass jars, wizened specimens stretched out and pinned on boards. It was hard to tell how many of the things Tooth had killed; he probably lost count himself. The reading got worse still as the scientist started dissecting his specimens and sketching the internal organs and bones.

All of this helped Asa decide that he would approach his studies from a different angle, as a conservationist. He would concentrate on the areas Tooth did not, on how the creatures lived, what they ate, and how they could be protected.

 

It was getting late so Asa closed the book, resolving to build the sprite a proper spacious home first thing in the morning.

He got into bed and closed his eyes but for a long time his brain was swimming with the sinister images of pickled sprites in half-gallon jars.

Next morning he set to work early.