Spark, page 2
After pulling on his boots and coat, Jack slipped out the back door, tramping over the dew-laden grass to the tall gate in the fence at the bottom of his garden. Beyond it was an overgrown footpath that ran along the back of the neighbouring houses. He paused, seeing a small brown bird with a blue-grey head, rust-coloured face and white feathers in its wings. It was perching on the drooping stem of a desiccated thistle.
Slowly and calmly, he slid his hand into his trouser pocket and took out his bird book. “You’re a tree sparrow,” he whispered, as the bird pecked at the shrivelled thistle head, searching for seeds. Scanning the index, he found the page for tree sparrow and immediately realized he was wrong. Flicking through the pages of the little book, he searched randomly for the bird, but when he looked up, it had gone.
Shoving the field guide back into his pocket, Jack stomped along the path feeling frustrated. He’d been a bird-spotter for two months now and was beginning to worry that he was no good at it. Every bird seemed to be a different shade of brown, and they were so jumpy, and moved so fast, it was impossible to know what you were looking at. Twitch told him to look at size, the shape of a bird’s beak and the habitat it was spotted in, and Jack really did try, but he couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.
Having moved from a big city to Briddvale only nine months ago, Jack felt he was way behind the others. Twitch, Ozuru, Terry and Tara had lived in the countryside town of Briddvale their entire lives. They knew the names of the plants and the trees like they knew the names of the roads and local landmarks. They didn’t need a field guide to identify birds. Even Tippi and Ava, the two members of the Twitchers not from Briddvale, knew lots about nature. They’d learned it from their nan who was an artist and lover of birds.
The thought that he might not be a good birdwatcher made Jack feel sick in his stomach; it was the main interest of his entire friendship circle: birds and solving crime.
At the end of the footpath, he turned away from the cul-de-sac of modern houses, striking out across scrubland, to take the shortcut to the canal and the east gate into Aves Wood. From behind him came the rhythmic thunder of a galloping horse. He spun around to see a woman in a fitted scarlet jacket over a high-necked white blouse, black jodhpurs and riding boots come flying over the hedgerow on the back of a white stallion. She was riding straight towards him.
“Hey!” Jack yelled, waving his arms as she bore down on him, showing no signs of trying to slow her horse. He threw himself sideways, hitting the ground hard and crying out in pain as his scratched arms collided with the earth. He rolled out of harm’s way to avoid being trampled.
Already in detective mode, Jack reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone, taking a series of photographs as the woman in red galloped away. Her mouth was set in a determined snarl, twisting her features. She didn’t look back, instead screeching “YAH! YAH!” as she beat her riding crop against the flank of the sweating stallion, driving it forward.
The rider hunkered down as the horse jumped. It kicked clods of mud into the air as it cleared the hedge at the far end of the field.
Jack sat up, shocked by his close encounter with the horse. Hadn’t the rider seen him? She hadn’t even tried to slow down. He scrolled through the sequence of photographs he’d taken with his phone. Who was she? He took out his notebook and pen, wrote the date at the top of a clean page, then a short description of the rider and what had happened.
Beyond the east gate cobwebs, suspended between burgundy stalks of curly dock, glittered in the early morning light. All was quiet. The nature reserve, with its weaving pathways and glades of burnished foliage, was a wild place that Jack had come to love. When he’d first met Twitch, his friend had been fiercely protective of Aves Wood, reluctant to share its secrets. Now, Jack understood why. It felt meaningful to be a part of the wildlife world within the woods.
Travelling down the main path to a familiar bend, Jack glanced up, searching the russet canopy above him for the rusty old shopping trolley that marked the secret trail to the Twitchers’ hide. The tree had held the trolley in its embrace for so long that its branches wound through it, lifting the trolley higher and higher as it grew. The pair were inseparable now.
Glancing over his shoulder to check no one would see him, Jack waded through a wall of yellowing bracken that swung back behind him like a door. A rabbit trail took him through a tangle of spiky plants that snagged on his clothes, scattering raindrops as they pinged free. He realized there must’ve been a shower of rain in the night, though it couldn’t have been heavy. It hadn’t reached the compacted forest floor, which had been baked hard over the summer.
The hide was hidden deep within a thicket of plants that would sting, spike or tear at your flesh if you approached it from the wrong direction. It was a point of pride for all the Twitchers that their den was so well camouflaged, it was impossible for the untrained eye to see. Built around an ancient oak that grew within a circle of coppiced hazel trees, the hide was a stone’s throw from the marshy banks of the Aves Wood pond, which, despite its name, was the size of a lake. The hide had three rooms. The entrance was a tepee built from tall branches. The back room was triangular, the size and shape of a two-man tent, and the main room was a square cabin with a window looking out over the water. A ladder climbed up through a hole in the tepee roof to a walkway that encircled the oak’s thick trunk. Above the walkway was a pigeon loft – an adapted dog crate strapped into the intersection of the oak’s upper branches and protected from the rain by strategically hung, olive green, tarpaulin triangles.
Ozuru’s dad had helped them get permission from the Aves Wood Nature Reserve committee to add the cabin (his old garden shed) and walkway to the tree. In exchange, the Twitchers had volunteered to litter-pick and act as rangers, looking after the wood.
Jack made his way round to the entrance of the hide, unhooked a wooden coat hanger from a stubby branch on an adjacent tree and pulled on it, winching the door open.
“Jack! Up here!” Twitch, a short boy with shoulder-length brackish-blond hair and a shy smile, hailed him from the viewing platform. Like Jack, he was dressed in combat trousers and a sandy hoodie. “I’m feeding the pigeons.”
Jack clambered up the ladder, joining Twitch on the walkway. Sitting down with his back against the old oak, Jack let his legs dangle over the edge as he looked out over the water.
“So where were you yesterday?” Twitch asked as he withdrew a handful of birdseed from a pocket in his trousers and emptied it into a bowl. “Why all the mystery?” He slid the bowl into the pigeon loft where two pigeons – one goggle-eyed and scruffy, the other a paler and neater bird – immediately began pecking at it.
Twitch had trained his two homing birds, Frazzle and Squeaker, to carry messages between the hide and his home, and Jack envied him his pets. He wanted to get pigeons too, but his mother wasn’t keen. She changed the subject every time he asked her about it.
Jack waited until Twitch had shut the loft door and he had his full attention. “Because at long last there is a mystery and a really good one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, I was on my way here when I found an injured cat.”
“Where?”
“Near the east gate. It was making an awful noise. I thought it was the beginning of the zombie apocalypse.”
Twitch laughed.
“It was hiding in the ferns and get this” – Jack paused for dramatic effect – “it had been shot!”
“Shot!” Twitch’s shock was exactly the reaction Jack had been hoping for.
“Yeah. Its back left leg was hanging all wrong and there was blood everywhere.”
Twitch dusted off his hands, wiping them on his trousers, as he sat down beside Jack. “What did you do?”
“I saved its life,” Jack said nonchalantly. “I picked it up and carried it all the way to the vet on Briddvale Road.”
“Was it unconscious?”
“No.”
“Injured cats are vicious.” Twitch looked sceptical. “I wouldn’t pick one up.”
“You wouldn’t?” Jack was surprised.
“Didn’t it go for you?”
Jack pushed up the sleeves of his coat and showed Twitch the scabs on his scratched arms.
“Whoa! That’s nasty. Did it hurt?”
“It did afterwards. I didn’t really feel the scratches when I was running to the vet. I was worried about the cat dying.” He shook his head. “I wanted to come and tell you and the others about it, but Mum wouldn’t let me. She was worried I’d get an infection or tetanus or something.” Jack let his sleeves fall back down. “But get this, Colonel Mustard isn’t the only cat that’s been shot.”
“Colonel Mustard?”
“That’s the cat’s name. He’s the third cat to be shot around here. The first one died!”
“That’s horrible!” Twitch looked out over the pond. “I mean, I don’t really like cats, but I wouldn’t go around killing them!”
“I know. It’s bad.”
“You sound … excited?” Twitch narrowed his eyes as he studied Jack.
“Colonel Mustard’s owner, Mr Frisby, said that he’d like the Twitchers to look into who might have shot his cat. He read about us in the paper.”
“What about the police?”
“The vet said they are investigating, but I reckon they’ll be too busy arresting people who commit crimes against people to worry about hurt animals.”
“Probably.” Twitch nodded.
“Mr Frisby wants us to find out who shot Colonel Mustard, and the other cats, and bring them to justice before they can hurt any more.” Jack beamed. “It’s our first proper case as detectives.” He bounced as he said this.
“Our second, don’t you mean?”
“Robber Ryan was our origin story. That case brought us together, but this one we can solve as a group.” Lifting his hand to his mouth to make a megaphone, Jack put on an action-movie-trailer voice, “Can the Twitchers solve the impossible case of the evil cat killer?”
“I bet we can.” Twitch laughed.
“I can’t wait to tell the others. This is going to be the best half-term holiday ever. And it’s Halloween next Friday, the best day of the year, and then it’s your birthday!”
“Mum’s so excited about throwing me a party, it’s making me nervous,” Twitch admitted. “I’ve not had a party before.”
“You’ve never had a birthday party?”
Twitch shook his head. “I’ve done nice things, like seeing a movie with Mum, or going out for dinner.”
“Yeah, but this is your thirteenth birthday. You’re going to be a teenager. You’ve got to have a party.”
Twitch shrugged and changed the subject. “Yesterday, we went to Passerine Pike and made a start on the skywatch hide. The swifts and swallows may have gone, but we saw starlings arriving from Eastern Europe.”
Jack suspected he’d be as good at charting migrations as he was at identifying tree sparrows. “Twitch, do you think that, maybe, some people aren’t good birdwatchers?”
“You’re so impatient, Jack.” Twitch gave him an affectionate shove, followed by a reassuring grin. “You’ve only been looking at birds for a couple of months. It gets easier as they become more familiar. Each season brings different birds. You need to be watching for at least a year to see them all. Wait till you find your spark bird. You’ll see things differently then.”
“What’s a spark bird?”
“It’s the bird that makes you a birdwatcher. Every birder has one.”
“I don’t have one,” Jack admitted. “I tried to identify a bird on the way here. I’m pretty sure it was common, but I got it wrong.”
“What did it look like?”
“It had a blue-grey head, and a rust-brown face with white feathers in its wings.”
“Was its beak the same blue-grey as its head?”
“Yeah.”
“It was a chaffinch.”
Jack was always impressed by Twitch’s knowledge, but it made him feel like they were very different people. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to spot birds with the confidence and joy that Twitch did.
“You’ll never guess what happened to me on the way here,” Jack said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “A woman on a big white horse came galloping across the field and almost ran me over. I had to jump and roll out of her way.” He showed Twitch a picture. “She was really whipping the horse. It was horrible.”
“That’s Lady Barbara Goremore of Mord Hall,” Twitch said with a stony voice, and Jack could tell he didn’t like her.
“Do you think I should report it to the police?”
Twitch shook his head. “She doesn’t think laws apply to her.”
“Perhaps she tried to mow me down because she’d heard that I’d accepted the cat killer case and she’s worried I might solve it. Do you think she looks like a cat killer?”
“Ha! She wouldn’t shoot a cat unless it grew wings and flew,” Twitch replied bitterly. “The Goremores hunt grouse. She is a bird murderer.”
“You can’t hunt grouse without a gun!” Jack declared triumphantly, flipping open his notebook and taking out his pen. “She owns a gun, looks evil, and tried to kill a detective on the case! That officially makes Lady Goremore our first suspect.”
“Hey look, it’s Jack!” Terry called out.
Jack saw his skinny, long-faced friend with dark curls approaching the hide with Ozuru. Terry was dressed in his usual threadbare jeans and royal-blue tracksuit jacket over a faded T-shirt, all hand-me-down clothes from his brothers. Ozuru, who was shorter than his best mate, with a heart-shaped face and neat black hair, was kitted out in a green waterproof coat and trousers. He made a swishing noise with every step.
“Ozuru, what are you wearing?” Jack laughed.
“Dad says there’s a big storm coming.”
“But it’s not going to rain today.” Jack pointed up at the cloudless sky. “If there is a storm, it’ll be on Monday.”
Ozuru shrugged. “Better to be safe than soaking wet.”
“Where’s Tara?” Twitch asked.
Tara lived near Terry and Ozuru. The three of them usually walked to Aves Wood together.
“She’s being weird,” Terry replied. “She came with us as far as Crowther Bridge, then got all secretive and said we had to go ahead without her.” He shrugged. “She is coming.”
Jack felt a twinge of frustration. He was impatient to share his news about the cat killer case with everyone. He’d have to wait for Tara.
He followed Twitch down the ladder as Terry and Ozuru went into the cabin.
Inside, there were eight tree stumps stacked in pairs along the back wall. Terry and Ozuru made a circle with five of them and sat down.
“Hiya,” came Tara’s soft voice from the door. “Sorry to make you wait. It’s just…” She giggled and covered her mouth.
Terry gave them an “I told you so” look.
Sweeping back her black hair and tucking it behind her ears, Tara pressed her lips together and looked at the ground, composing herself. “It’s just … I’ve got some good news.”
“Hold on!” Ozuru eagerly took out his notebook. “Shall I do an official meeting agenda, like I did yesterday?”
“What for?” Terry scoffed. “We didn’t use it.”
“I did.” Ozuru looked offended. “If we’re going to be an official society, we should do things properly.”
“Yes, please, Ozuru,” Tara said, sitting down on the tree stump beside him. “I’d like my news to go on your agenda.”
“I’ve got something for the agenda too,” Jack said. “Shall I go first?”
“Er…” Ozuru was stunned by Jack’s enthusiasm.
“Wait.” Tara giggled again. “Let’s get Ava and Tippi on the phone. That way they can join our meeting.” She made a show of taking her phone out of her pocket and tapping the screen.
Jack glanced at the others. They were all looking confused. Everybody knew there was no mobile signal in Aves Wood.
“Oh! Hi, Ava. Hi, Tippi,” Tara called loudly into her phone. “We’re having a Twitchers’ meeting. Care to join us?”
“Hi!” came a sudden shout as the two girls jumped through the doorway into the hide.
“Aargh!” Terry yelled in shock, jerking backwards and falling off his tree stump.
The sudden appearance of Ava, all in black – coat, joggers and trainers – with her little sister, Tippi, an explosion of colour in pink puffer, turquoise top, purple skirt and yellow leggings, got a big reaction.
“What are you doing here?” Twitch cried, leaping up joyfully as Ozuru helped Terry scramble to his feet.
“We’re on half-term holiday!” Ava did a dance of celebration. Her hair, which was tied on top of her head in a bun, wobbled with glee.
“The Twitchers are together again!” Tippi sang out, jigging on the spot in her bright green wellie-boots.
Jack was grinning madly. This couldn’t be more perfect. The whole gang would be able to work the case of the evil cat killer. Between the seven of them, they were sure to catch the culprit before the police.
“The hide’s looking great,” Ava declared, looking around and sighing with pleasure at being back.
“I like that sign,” Tippi said, pointing at a log that hung beside the door with THE TWITCHERS carved into it.
“I whittled it,” Ozuru said proudly.
“Tara, you knew they were coming and didn’t tell us?” Twitch scolded her happily.
“Only since yesterday.”
“I swore her to secrecy,” Ava said. “We wanted it to be a surprise.”
Tippi tugged at Jack’s sleeve. “I’ve been learning my signs, like you taught us.” She frowned with concentration as she moved her hands, signing the words, “Have you missed me?”
“Yes, we all have,” Jack signed back.
Tara added two more tree stumps to their circle, and Ava sat down with relish, clapping her hands together. “Ozuru, what’s on today’s agenda?”
