‘There!’ she said triumphantly. ‘’Tis one of them hinstruments what makes the small things bigger, you know? Brings the faraway things closer.’
How Hetty Pepper came to buy the effects of Farley Cupstart I shall probably never know, as she could not recall where she had picked them up, but I had no doubt that I was now holding that gentleman’s battered telescope, for engraved upon the side were the initials F.C..
I offered her half a crown for the glass but she refused, saying that I could have it by way of rent for letting her stay the night.
So. A silver statuette. Is that what this is all about? But if this ornament was already in Cupstart’s possession, what was he looking for?
Perhaps he believed my grandfather owned a second one.
Saturday 22nd April 1780
After much mulling over of the evidence I have come to the following conclusions:
1. There were two statues.
2. Farley Cupstart was in possession of one of them, which was made of silver.
3. Cupstart believed that Grandfather had the other.
4. Cupstart believed that the two together held great value or power.
Wednesday 10th May 1780
At last! I have captured a live specimen! The people of Mereton will rue the day they ever hounded me from their stinking town. I shall be rich!
First things first: to give the beast a name. Pending a thorough internal examination I have provisionally classified it as a new species of the Homo genus displaying characteristics of the Odonata order of insects. Therefore it shall be called Homo insecta Dentii (the latter for myself ) but it shall be known as the Windvale Sprite.
The trapping method that eluded me for so long was, as is often the case, so simple as to be laughable. I soon found from my observations that there are two things the creatures cannot resist:
1: Any crack or crevice, ditch or dyke they can’t help but explore. (They live, from all I can gather, in old warrens that the rabbits have either abandoned or been chased from, as I was from Mereton.)
2: (And this is the thunderbolt!) Shiny things! Be it a new penny or a shard of broken glass, if it reflects the sun they want it and will go to any lengths to get it.
My discovery was made thus:
Two days ago, whilst keeping my heathside watch I happened to drift off to sleep in the afternoon sun. I was presently awoken by a buzzing sound and on stirring surprised two of the creatures who made off with great haste across the moor. I looked down to discover three of my silver coat buttons gone, the thread bitten through. Stolen! It was only then that I thought back and remembered other items mysteriously vanished: a shoe buckle, a watch chain and my amber hatpin. All no doubt pilfered by those winged rapscallions.
But they are sly! Or clever, for when the traps were obvious they stayed away, sensing danger, and anything mechanical or sprung they would steer clear of.
And the solution was a bucket. A mere bucket from my yard, baited with a silver sixpence, sunk into the ground with a heavy lid propped up on a stick that I pulled away on a twine.
The first two attempts brought them close but they sensed or smelled me and fled. Working on the theory that they have an extraordinary sense of smell, on the third attempt I endeavoured not to touch any of the components of the trap with my hands and wrapped my feet in wads of grass lest my footprints should carry my scent.
And that was the key! I waited ’til it was inside and tweaked the twine from my position downwind. The lid came down and the prize was mine.
Once back in my lab I transferred the specimen into a glass-fronted box and took some sketches and observations. I have concluded that the creature is a male of the species. He has light, silvery hair on his head and extending, like a lion’s mane, down to the shoulder blades, from which sprout four large wings. From high on the forehead, right on the hairline, extend a pair of long, club-shaped antennae similar to those of a butterfly. Its eyes are large and compound, dark blue in colour. The skin is tough and leathery, reminding me of the exoskeleton of a crustacean. It will be interesting to dissect it and see whether it also has an endoskeleton.
On each hand are four fingers and an opposable thumb. They do not have fingernails but instead are tipped with a wispy thread. Each foot is divided into two large toes.
On the side of the arms, from wrist to shoulder, and up the back of each leg, from above the ankle to the top of the thigh, runs a line of short spines.
Wednesday 17th May 1780
Two more specimens captured today.
One of them looks very young, perhaps only recently hatched from its nymph.
The other is considerably older with large thorns on its limbs and, I can hardly believe it, a very familiar marking on its chest.
I was right! The design above the door, the silver statue, Farley Cupstart’s sketch and the sprites are all linked. What is more, Grandfather must have known about the existence of the creatures on the moor.
His bedtime stories were true.
Why did he tell only me? Why did he not reveal them to the world? Why did he live modestly when he could have been rich and famous?
Tuesday 23rd May 1780
Three more sprites trapped. I find it hard to believe it took me so long to catch the first and now they fall for my traps three at a time!
These three are my first from the elusive Plains Tribe.
Absent from the moor during the winter months, the Plains Tribe are harder to trap as they tend to move about and never settle in one place for long. All three have coloration on the wings and have adorned themselves with pieces of jewellery fashioned from seeds, feathers and tiny bones (possibly from a shrew).
All are equipped with a vicious sting, as I have experienced many times to the detriment of my poor nerves. A barbed thorn at the base of the ankle administers the venom, which is painful but lasts no longer than a bee sting. The animal can twist its body wildly though, and sting even when you think you have a good grip on it. These days I wear leather falconry gauntlets whenever I handle them.
The sprites are infuriatingly nervous and skittish. I have to remain very still when sketching as any sudden movement will send them into a violent frenzy, dashing themselves against the bars of the cage and tearing their wings in the process.
Tuesday 30th May 1780
A Note on Housing and Feeding
The creatures are best housed in small birdcages of the type used for finches. No cover need be provided as this encourages them to hide and makes observation impossible. They prefer to cling to a vertical branch rather than a horizontal perch but their wings are best displayed when the cage is left bare and they must cling to the bars.
A water bowl may be provided but one need not offer food, as the creatures will not feed in captivity.
Pondering how best to profit from my discovery I have come up with an idea. Thinking of the time in Inglesea and how those two rogues profited from a shipwrecked chimpanzee, I remembered just how willingly the poor townsfolk gave their shilling just to get a look at the beast. Imagine how easily they could be parted from their money to see a sprite! I could charge a guinea and people would be queuing down the street.
I started thinking of a tour around the country, setting up in town halls or at fairs. To make it more of a spectacle I thought of teaching the sprites to perform or to wear tiny clothes. However, this would be impossible at present. They are so timid and terrified when I am around that I doubt whether they can be tamed.
The memory of dear Mr Gadigun’s stuffed animal displays has inspired me to think up ways that I can put the sprites in human situations for the amusement of an audience.
Wednesday 7th June 1780
A Note on Pickling and Preserving
Though I continue to try to keep one of the creatures alive for a period they rarely last three or four days before their refusal to eat and their self-harming tendency makes them useless for experimentation. Therefore it makes sense to kill the specimens as shortly after capture as possible so as t
o preserve them in a prime physical state.
They can be dried and pinned out as one would a large insect. I have achieved this a number of times but the body shrivels somewhat and loses shape as it dehydrates. Also the skin darkens in colour.
Salting does not work as the exoskeleton is impervious to salts and the insides continue to decompose.
Pickling is the best of a bad selection until I find some better method. A solution of formaldehyde, water and methanol in a half-gallon jar will keep a specimen indefinitely but all colours fade to a uniform yellow-grey within a matter of weeks.
Saturday 1st July 1780
The puzzling question of Grandfather’s and Cupstart’s great ages and how this relates to the sprites has been occupying my thoughts. The symbol tattooed on their skin is without doubt the key.
Those that bear the markings appear to beolder than those without and several seem to be of a very great age indeed. I have counted the growth ridges on the exoskeleton of a particular individual and calculated it to be at least one hundred and fifty years old.
I will concentrate my efforts on the Brook Tribe that inhabits the old warren by the stream. All of the marked specimens I have collected came from the vicinity of this nest so I conclude that the answer to the mystery will be found there.
Monday 3rd July 1780
I have started digging on the south-facing bank. It is hard work and I could use some help but I’ll be damned if I shall share this discovery with even the lowliest labourer.
Tuesday 4th July 1780
I have been stung by the spiteful little beasts one too many times, and have lost all sympathy for and patience with them. Tomorrow I will go to town and purchase some ferrets with which to drive them from their burrows. Then I can continue to excavate without risk of being constantly stung.
Wednesday 5th July 1780
The ferret plan worked as well as I could have wished. After securing nets across every hole I could locate I sent down the two animals who were eager and hungry. Almost immediately the sprites started to flee and were trapped: I netted a dozen good specimens of varying ages. Unfortunately I seem to have missed a hole on the northern side of the warren and soon witnessed a mass exodus of perhaps a hundred individuals who flew in a swarm away across the moor to the north-west. A breakaway group must have doubled back, however, and I was stung severely several times on the buttocks as I tried to coax the ferrets back out.
Once they were gone I lost no time and began to dig.
The entrance tunnels are extraordinarily deep and only after two hours’ solid work did I come across a first ‘room’. A small dugout containing nothing but a pile of acorn cups. A stockroom perhaps? There are no oaks on the moor so they must have been gathered from far afield, perhaps used for bowls or drinking vessels. I progressed another couple of feet downwards before the tunnel started to level out to horizontal. It began to get dark and though I was tempted to return to the house and get candles to work through the night, the wind was starting to pick up and the clouds threatened rain. Before I left I barricaded the hole securely with stones and rubble to prevent the creatures returning to their home and stealing any of their possessions back.
A further three or four feet along the passageway I fancy it starts to open up into a much bigger chamber. I shall return at daybreak on the morrow.
Thursday 6th July 1780
I have found it! The object that the creatures hold in such high esteem and which I am certain has some kind of mystic power of eternal youth. It is mine!
I’ll be brief as I have many dissections to perform on the captured specimens and they are dropping like flies.
When I returned to the warren at first light there was indeed some evidence that a group of them had been back to salvage their treasures but the rubble barricades were too much for them. They had started to dig new tunnels down but they had been abandoned, probably as they saw me arriving.
It didn’t take long to reach the room I mentioned yesterday, some sort of dining hall with earthen tables and benches in rows. Other rooms and antechambers lead off this hall, dormitories perhaps, but nothing of great interest was found here.
It was then I realised that the fresh tunnels that had appeared overnight were on the other side of the mound. Whatever they were so desperate to retrieve was obviously on that side. I started to dig in the direction of these new holes. After an hour’s hard graft the ground suddenly caved in and revealed a large chamber filled with objects, the collected treasures of generations of sprites. They were the shiny trinkets that I have come to know the beasts cannot resist. Lots of junk and scrap metal, spoons, nails, stained glass, and my stolen coat buttons and hatpin, all polished to a high sheen. But amongst the rubbish are many valuable items, numerous coins, some of them gold, dating back to Roman times, small pieces of jewellery and gems. I shall spend many enjoyable evenings sifting though my hoard, grading and valuing the treasure.
The floor of this grand ‘hall’ (though it is, in actual fact, no bigger than the size of my pantry) had semicircular earthen ridges radiating out from a central point, presumably seating, and at the centre was the object of my search. A figure, a totem fashioned not of silver but in wood, perhaps rose or holly, barely eight inches tall and exactly as represented in the tattoos the creatures bear which have intrigued me so greatly. It is a beautiful piece of work with carving so intricate it can only have been rendered by tiny hands but, more than that, as soon as I grasped it and tore it from its base I felt an invigorating wave of health and vitality pass through me. The aches and cramps of the previous day’s exertion evaporated and I felt as strong as an ox.
This wild place, this unforgiving Windvale Moor that I have come to love, has finally rewarded me.
A possible plan is to grind the statue to a fine powder and use it in potions that will guarantee long life and health. This I will sell at great profit, not to ordinary people but to Kings and Queens, only the very rich, and then so shall I be. It cannot fail.
There is a tap at the window. Is it Hetty Pepper? I did not hear her wagon …
*
It seems as though I have been tricked. Having locked the statue in my safe box I went outside to investigate a tap-tapping at the window. Finding nobody there I made a circuit of the house to check for intruders. Again finding nothing, I came back inside and bolted the door. Only then did I notice the specimen cage had been broken open and all twelve sprites awaiting dissection were gone. Sprung from jail! Perhaps I have underestimated these creatures. If they can plan and execute an escape from prison they must be more intelligent than I thought! Fascinating!
No matter, for I have as many preserved sprites as I need to present to the Royal Society and know of four more colonies should I need live specimens.
There is the tapping again! They shall not fool me a second time! Where is my gun?!
Friday 7th July 1780
I am barricaded in the basement of my house, writing by candlelight, swollen and sore from stings too numerous to count. They attacked me! The ungrateful swine attacked me in my own home!
On hearing a second tap at the windowpane I leapt up, loaded my shotgun and went to the door to listen. Hearing no movement, I opened the door a crack and they were upon me! Twenty or more of the things flew in my face and batted around my ears. I stumbled back, wheeled about and discharged the blunderbuss into the room. I didn’t hit a single sprite but instead shattered the front window whereupon dozens came swarming through the broken pane and dozens more down the chimney. I was surrounded by an angry, buzzing cyclone of sprites and felt the intense burning as they stung me on the ears, neck and hands. I turned the gun around and, using the stock like a cricket bat, I flailed about the room hitting out blindly, though the flying demons were too nimble and dodged each swipe with ease.
Suddenly I noticed that while the swarm attacked, another group had seized the statuette from my desk and were struggling to lift it up to the window. With a primal war cry I lunged towards them, hur
led myself across the desk and grabbed hold of my prize. They could burn the house down for all I cared at that moment but they would not take the statue from me. Once I had hold of it they backed off (perhaps afraid that I would damage it), and taking up my cavalry sword I battled my way out of the room and down into the cellar where I secured the door and all possible routes in.
For a while I could hear them buzzing outside the door and frenetic movement in the house above but after half an hour it subsided and all was silent. I sat awake all night but must have drifted off to sleep around sunrise. I know not how long I slept for I haven’t a watch or clock down here but the fear that they are up there lying in ambush has kept me prisoner in the basement the whole day. About an hour ago I heard a knock at the front door. I imagine this was probably the baker’s boy bringing my order from town. I am hungry and thirsty and will have to venture out. I will be cautious.
*
All is lost! Sprites! Sprites! Sprites!
I have been beaten and I have no fight left in me to retaliate.
*
On leaving the cellar, statue in one hand and sword in the other, I ventured carefully up the steps, fully expecting a winged attack to come at me around every corner and from every shadow. The house was quiet save for the wind whistling through the broken window in the laboratory. At first it all looked as I had left it last night in the heat of battle but as I began to right the furniture and gather the scattered papers I noticed things missing. The sprites had been busy. Every specimen I had collected had been taken. Those I had dried had been prised from their mountings, cases opened, pickling jars smashed and the preserved specimens gone. Not a single one remains.
The Lost Journals of Benjamin Tooth Page 8
