Spark, page 12
As time ticked on, Jack became restless. He didn’t know when Peaky and Madden would turn up. He could be sitting here for hours.
He thought about how impressed Twitch would be when he found out that Jack had saved the lammergeier, and suddenly he realized what he could do whilst he waited. He took out his binoculars, notebook and pen. The notebook hadn’t completely dried out from the soaking it had got on the ride home from Mord Hall. He was glad he’d written in biro. Lifting his binoculars, Jack scoured the sky above Rooky Wood for nocturnal birds.
As night deepened, he chased the calls of hooting owls, but failed to spot one. A full moon lit up the horizon and Jack wondered why he hadn’t noticed it rise. Twitch often told him he was in too much of a hurry, to slow down if he wanted to see things, and Jack knew there was truth in this.
Translucent clouds, like tattered moth wings, sailed across the sky occasionally, but it was a clear and cold night. It seemed as if all the stars had turned out to watch the evening’s drama.
Being a fan of horror films had its downsides when you had time to kill. Having an overactive imagination whilst you were sitting on a hillside at night, waiting for two lads who’d beaten you up to collect a bag of dead rabbits and a box of rat poison, was punishing.
Jack tried to think about other things but found himself wondering where Nick Skinner had got his bag of dead rabbits from. Had he shot them? An image sprang into Jack’s head of steel traps with jagged teeth, and Nick Skinner smashing a trapped bunny over the head with a rock. The shadows took on the form of the surly gamekeeper and Jack began to wish Peaky and Madden would hurry up just so that he wouldn’t be alone out here. The wind in the grass sounded like the gamekeeper’s rasping breath. Every noise made Jack jump. What if Nick Skinner was walking the land tonight? What if he was watching Peaky and Madden? Jack had better be on his guard.
It was nearly ten o’clock when Jack heard laughter. He clicked off his torch, slipping it into his pocket. A few minutes later bobbing lights, like two giddy fireflies, crested the hill and bounded towards him. Peaky and Madden strode along the dirt track, each wearing a beanie with a head torch strapped to it and carrying a rucksack.
Jack watched them retrieve the sack and the rat poison. It was too dark for them to see that the box had been tampered with.
“Peeyew! These rabbits stink.” Madden recoiled after opening the sack and peering inside.
Jack waited until they’d climbed the gate, setting off over the field towards Rooky Wood, before moving aside the branches he’d propped in front of his hiding place. He folded the carrier bag he’d been sitting on, then as carefully and quietly as he could, he set out after them.
It was much easier to shadow the two lads than he’d thought it would be. It didn’t occur to them that they weren’t alone in the world. They talked and joked loudly, laughing when one of them tripped or got spooked by a creature in the grass.
“This is the beginning of the Mord Estate.” Peaky pointed to a fence. “On the other side is Rooky Wood.”
Jack crept closer, making sure his phone was on silent, then turned on the recorder and held it out in front of him.
“Should we put a rabbit out here, to encourage the vulture bird this way?”
“How many do we have in the bag?”
“Four.”
“We need one for the rocks by Passerine Pike, one for the track that leads up to it…”
“If we put one here the bag will be lighter,” Madden said.
“If we put one here, and people who aren’t from the Mord Estate find it, we could be in big trouble.”
“Then let’s dump one on the other side of the fence.”
“Uncle Nick said it’s got to be where there are no trees, so the vulture can see it.”
“You carry the sack then.” Madden thrust the bag at Peaky. “They stink. You can put on the rat poison too. It’s gross.”
“If I’m doing the baiting” – Peaky shoved the sack back at Madden – “then you can carry the bag. Or else why are you here?”
Madden reluctantly grunted his agreement, then the two lads helped each other over the waist-high barbed-wire fence.
Jack felt a spark of glee at capturing this bit of conversation. He stopped the recorder, hoping Peaky and Madden had been loud enough for their words to be clear.
After the lads had walked into Rooky Wood, Jack turned his attention to the fence. He knew Ava would have run at it, leaned on the wooden post, and scissored her legs over in a second. He wasn’t sure that he could clear it, and barbed wire could give you a nasty scratch where you really didn’t want one.
Putting on his gloves, he selected the baggiest bit of barbed wire and yanked it up, pushing the wire below it down. Stepping one leg into the gap, he carefully wiggled his bottom and dipped his head through, adjusted his balance and brought through his remaining leg with a sigh of relief. Straightening up, he turned to Rooky Wood and his heart lurched. He couldn’t see or hear Peaky and Madden. He scanned the trees. He wasn’t even certain which direction they’d gone in.
It was dark in Rooky Wood. Jack’d not been there before. He didn’t know where the paths were and couldn’t risk turning on his torch. A ripple of panic twisted his stomach. He calmed himself with a deep breath. What would Twitch do? He closed his eyes and stood, quietly, listening to the woods. After a couple of long minutes, Jack heard the alarmed call of wood pigeons woken from their sleep. He opened his eyes and saw a bird shoot up out of the canopy, making a brief silhouette against the milky moon. He smiled and headed in that direction.
Rooky Wood was a thick phalanx of trees separating the manicured grounds of Mord Hall from the heath of the grouse moors. Peaky and Madden marched through the wood and out the other side, into the springy heather and bracken of the moor.
Jack tracked them, keeping to the fringe of the wood, using tree shadows as cover.
As they crossed the open land, the moon shone a sepia spotlight on Peaky and Madden. Jack could see them clearly. They stopped and bent down.
“You’re so squeamish!” Peaky teased, laughing.
Madden turned away. He was gagging, like he was going to throw up.
Jack heard the rattle of the box of rat poison. They were setting the first trap. He slid his phone from his pocket and crept towards them. As he zoomed in to take a photo, the screen blazed with light. Jack panicked, fumbling the phone and dropping it. Throwing himself on the ground, he grabbed the phone and shoved it into his pocket.
“What was that?” Madden asked Peaky.
“All I could hear was you puking.”
“Shut up! I didn’t puke!” He looked around. “I heard something.”
“Could’ve been grouse? A fox maybe, or a badger?” Peaky replied nonchalantly. “Not getting scared, are you?” He paused and then said in a nasty voice. “It could be my Uncle Nick, following us to make sure we’re doing a proper job.”
Madden straightened at this. “Quit your messing. I’m just saying I thought I heard something. That’s all.”
“Who’s going to be up here, on private land, at eleven o’clock at night?” Peaky said. “It’s the Mord Estate. No one’s allowed here.” He left another pause. “Except my uncle…”
Madden shoved him and Peaky laughed.
“We’ve done one,” Madden said.
“Three to go,” Peaky added. “Come on.”
As they tramped off across the moor, Jack allowed himself a smile. Peaky and Madden had left a dead rabbit on the ground covered in harmless sweets. The plan was working.
As the moor rose in front of him, Jack’s confidence grew. Peaky and Madden were clearly visible as they followed a narrow path up the hill, their head torches acting like lighthouse beacons. He’d have plenty of time to drop if either of them turned around, and because he wasn’t using a light, his eyes were well-adjusted to the dark.
Looming up beyond the two lads was Passerine Pike: the tallest hill in a long range north of Briddvale. It had a distinctive rock formation at its peak. It looked as though the stones had burst out of the ground like a broken bone might split skin. A winding footpath, a public right of way, led from a car park at the bottom all the way to the top. It was a common walk for ramblers who wanted to admire the view across the valley. Jack’s parents had dragged him up it when they’d first moved to Briddvale in the spring. Twitch had brought him up it to watch starling murmurations in the early autumn but he’d never been up on his own.
Between Passerine Pike and the Mord lands was a high wooden and barbed-wire fence, through which weaved an old hedgerow tangled with thorny blackberry runners and nettles. Every few metres there was a yellow sign telling people on the outside that the inside was private land, and that trespassers would be prosecuted. In the late summer a new sign had appeared, warning ramblers that from the twelfth of August till the end of December, grouse shooting took place on the other side of the fence.
“In other words,” Twitch had said, “if you come on our land, we’ll sue you or shoot you.”
Jack ducked as Peaky and Madden stopped to set another bunny trap. He snuck forwards, silently photographing them as they laid the unfortunate rabbit on the path. Jack was praying the moonlight was bright enough for it to be clear in the picture what it was they were doing.
They set the third trap on an outcrop of rocks. Jack was mildly impressed by their choice of location. It was a place where you could imagine a bearded vulture might break the bones of its breakfast. The area looked like a bird of prey feeding station, although he guessed very few birds of prey lingered in the skies over Mord Hall.
“We’ve got one left,” Madden said, holding up the bag.
“We’ll put it near the shooting butt.”
“Is that where we’re going to camp?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we close? ’Cause I’m knackered.”
“It’s up there, near the Pike.” Peaky took the bag from him. “I’ll bait the last rabbit if you make camp. Just throw the tarpaulin over the top of the shooting butt and weigh it down with stones.”
“All right. Are you going to put that rabbit somewhere we can see from the door?”
“Yeah, and when the vulture comes, kapow, kapow, kapow,” Peaky made shooting sounds. “It’ll be a sitting duck.”
“A duck?”
“An easy target.” Peaky swung his rucksack off his shoulder and patted a dark parcel strapped to the back. “Guess who nicked their uncle’s air rifle from his gun cabinet?”
“You never?” Madden sounded impressed. “I brought my slingshot, but a gun is way better.”
“Shooting those cats was just for practice. This is the real thing. We’re proper hunters now. We need a real weapon.”
Jack’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t part of the plan. They weren’t meant to shoot the vulture! He was so horrified by what they were saying, he forgot to record the conversation.
“We’ll show Uncle Nick that we know how to handle a gun.” Peaky leaped about pretending to shoot things. “He only said we should use poison after I tried to shoot that pigeon with your slingshot and missed.”
“You missed?” Madden laughed.
“Shut up. Pigeons are way smaller than vultures!” Peaky protested.
“You are a rubbish shot.”
“I’m not. I’m better than you. I’m the one that killed that cat. I’m going to be a marksman like my uncle.”
“I never miss when I’m using my fists.” Madden shadow-boxed the air.
“Yeah, but shooting is a skill.”
“So is knocking out an opponent with one punch.” Madden playfully punched Peaky’s shoulder.
“Ouch! Stop it or…”
“Or you’ll do what?” Madden punched him again, a bit harder this time.
“I’ll throw this dead rabbit at you.” Peaky reached into the bag and pulled out the last bunny by its ears.
“Man, you are sick.” Madden dropped his fists and turned away, walking towards the shooting butt. “When is the lamb killer arriving?”
“In the next few days, Uncle Nick said. Could be tomorrow or the next day.”
Jack stayed where he was, watching Peaky lay the last trap. He took photos of him sprinkling the Toxic Fizzy Drops over the rabbit, but all the while his mind was whirring.
When he was done, Peaky climbed the hill to help his partner in crime, who was wrestling with a sheet of tarpaulin. The shooting butt was a circular shelter, built from a dry-stone wall, sunk into the ground, with a door-sized gap as an entrance. Turf lined the top of the wall, where grouse hunters would rest the barrels of their guns. As they set up their camp, Jack stared at the air rifle strapped to Peaky’s rucksack.
I need to get that gun.
Once they’d anchored down the tarp, making a roof for their camp, Peaky and Madden dragged their bags inside and built a fire in front of the doorway.
Jack shivered as he looked on, envious of the warmth from their fire. He hadn’t planned on spending the night under the stars. He’d thought he’d get his evidence and creep home, to his own bed, telling his parents that he’d fallen out with Twitch. He hadn’t brought any shelter or bedding. He stared up at the star-freckled sky. The lammergeier wouldn’t be poisoned, but that would mean nothing if Peaky shot the bird with an air rifle.
I’ll wait until they fall asleep, Jack thought. Then I’ll creep into their camp and steal the gun. If Peaky doesn’t have a gun, he can’t shoot the vulture.
Then he remembered the slingshot and realized he was going to have to steal that too.
Jack wished he’d told Ava and Terry what he was doing. He’d feel better if someone knew where he was. He thought about sending them a message and took out his phone. It was past midnight, they’d be asleep, but at least they’d see his message in the morning. The screen lit up and his heart sank as he saw the signal bars were at zero. He was on his own.
“I’m gutted we don’t get to go trick-or-treating this year,” Madden said, poking a stick in the fire.
“Yeah, but we’ll earn good money at the Halloween Ball,” Peaky pointed out.
“It’s not as much fun as lying in wait for little kids, scaring the hell out of them and stealing their sweets.” Madden gave a low guttural laugh.
“What was that?” Peaky grabbed Madden’s wrist as the dark night was pierced by the long harsh screech of a barn owl.
Twitch had taught Jack the calls of nocturnal birds. For the first time Jack understood what Twitch meant about feeling like the birds were his companions. He found the barn owl’s hunting cry thrilling because he recognized what it was, and he smiled to see how it scared Peaky and Madden.
“The fire will keep wild animals from attacking us,” Madden said, obviously shaken. “They hate fire. They’re scared of it.”
Jack pushed his lips together, swallowing a laugh. Considering these were the two meanest bullies in Briddvale, he was surprised and delighted that every hoot, squawk or rustle made them jump. He wondered what wild animals they thought lived on the heath. There were no lions in Briddvale.
Moving away from the camp, Jack found a flat outcrop of rock and walked back and forth, as quietly as possible, wrapping his arms around himself and bouncing on his toes to keep warm. The temperature was dropping. His breath was a tell-tale white mist and he fancied he could see frost forming on the bracken. He needed somewhere to shelter until Peaky and Madden fell asleep.
Passerine Pike loomed over him and, as Jack stared up at it, it occurred to him that somewhere over there, nestled among the rocks, was the skywatch hide. If he could find it in the dark, it would shelter him from the elements. He could watch the shooting butt through his binoculars and come back when he was sure Peaky and Madden were asleep. They’d have to put the fire out when they went to bed, which would be a clear sign.
Jack strode eagerly up the hill towards the fence that kept the public off the Mord Estate. As he approached it, he could see that climbing over wasn’t going to be easy. There were loops of barbed wire woven through the dense foliage and it was taller than Jack. He wondered how Ava would approach this one.
He walked along until he found a fence post with a flat square of wood screwed to it. It was one of the yellow warning signs that had gone up over the summer saying: CAUTION! GROUSE SHOOTING IN PROGRESS ON THIS MOOR TODAY. Jack jumped but he couldn’t quite reach it. He risked pulling his torch from his pocket and turning it on. He studied the tangle of hedge, fence panel and barbed wire, until he found the stub of a branch that looked like it might hold his weight. He stepped his left foot onto it and jumped, throwing his right arm up around the sign, then scrambled his feet, trying to walk up the fence. He heard the sign splitting, and, before he fell backwards, he launched himself forward with all his might over the top.
Barbed wire tore his trousers as he landed on his side with a thud that emptied his lungs of air. He felt a fresh pain as the skin on his face flamed with agony. As he struggled to get up, the grouse shooting sign hit him on the back of the head. He tumbled away from the fence, gasping for breath, unsure where to rub as everywhere hurt. He looked back and shone his torch at the fence. He’d fallen face first into a bed of stinging nettles.
It’s just bruises and stings, Jack told himself, getting to his feet. The pain was mollified by the fact that he immediately felt safer, knowing he was on public land and there was a fence between him and the bullies with the air rifle. Trying to ignore his stinging face and bruised ribs, he staggered towards the towering outcrop of rock at the top of Passerine Pike.
Twitch always said that the key to a good hide was that it must be invisible. Jack cursed as he searched the rocks for the entrance. If only he’d come up with the others on Monday morning, he’d know where it was … but then he wouldn’t have found out about the plot to kill the vulture.
