‘Welcome to my nightmare,’ Charlotte grumbled as they made their way up the drive.
*
A marquee was erected on the large lawn at the rear and tables laden with food and drink were already swarming with guests.
Isla was a picture of sophistication in a pastel pink summer dress and pearl earrings, making Charlotte feel underdressed in her habitual combat trousers, T-shirt and trainers. Isla was a natural hostess, yet she lacked the easy charm of Edessa, Charlotte noticed with a certain satisfaction.
‘So glad you could make it,’ she beamed as if Charlotte had had a choice.
‘Thank you for inviting me,’ Charlotte replied automatically in what she hoped was an interested tone.
‘Let me introduce you to some of the guests,’ Isla simpered, whisking Charlotte through another sea of strange faces.
‘So you’re the young lady causing such a furore,’ said Mr Hickling, as Isla introduced her. He offered her his hand with a practised but genuine smile. Charlotte could see where Isla had learnt it from.
‘I just don’t see the sense in destroying a perfectly healthy tree and park, especially one with so much history,’ she replied.
She could hardly say it was a matter of life and death; they would think she was mad as a box of frogs if she started talking about Syluria, Tree Weavers or the loss of a new race of people from another dimension before anyone even knew they existed. If only The Morrigan would use her skills – surely this could be sorted out with a little magic.
‘Quite right, quite right. History is important, and we must hear both sides of the debate, that’s the reason for this little soirée. We must however, also ensure we get the right balance of retaining our history and making progress. We don’t want to be left behind, now do we?’
Charlotte made a mental note. He talked a good talk but it was clear where Mr Hickling stood on the matter. She wouldn’t find an ally there.
‘Is this Miss Charlotte of Stone?’ a lady asked Mr Hickling. ‘Isn’t she doing a fine job,’ she cooed.
‘She is indeed,’ Mr Hickling replied, with no idea who the lady was. ‘Well, Miss Stone, I must not monopolise you, there will be many people wanting to speak to you, I’m sure.’
‘Lady Morrigan.’ Charlotte addressed the woman.
‘You are doing well,’ The Morrigan nodded with approval, ‘but time is running out.’
‘Then why don’t you do something? I know you could.’
The Morrigan nodded. ‘I could, but what would that achieve? The humans would just destroy the Nymet another day. They have to be made to care. If you can’t talk them round I will have no choice but to intervene and as I’ve told you before, you really don’t want that.’
‘I don’t know why you chose me then, why not Oll…’
‘I didn’t choose you, Charlotte of Stone. The Nymet did,’ The Morrigan hissed. ‘Rest assured you would have been my last choice… now, maybe that sister of yours…’
‘What do you know of Edessa?’
The Morrigan smiled. ‘I know about the Sleeping Mother… and how she sometimes changes her mind, but I am only a player in the same game as you.’
The Morrigan faded into the air but before Charlotte had time to respond and she could see Olly’s father bounding over to her with a huge grin.
‘So pleased to meet you, Charlotte.’ He shook her hand vigorously.
‘Thank you, Mr Batterbee.’
‘Call me Irving,’ Mr Batterbee insisted. ‘I used to go to school with your mother, you know. I understand you found an old essay we wrote together; I was the one who took that photo of her and the tree in the snow.’ He grinned proudly. ‘That was one strange winter.’
‘Olly has told me all about you,’ Charlotte said politely. ‘He says you’re quite the local historian.’
‘Some would be kind enough to say that but I’m afraid I can’t help you with the story of your grandparents if that’s what you were going to ask.’
‘Actually I’ve got that covered,’ Charlotte smiled, ‘Clarissa told me all about them. Knowing I have a long line of family from here certainly has boosted my confidence in speaking tonight. I don’t feel like such an outsider anymore.’
‘There’s my girl, I knew that jumped up little turnip Ransell had underestimated you. You are your mother’s daughter, eh?’
Charlotte didn’t know how to respond, she was concentrating on not welling up.
‘We all know those nasty Ransell boys want to sell the land for development; the decision is nothing to do with safety. The destruction of Brackenheath Park in its entirety for restaurants, cinemas, a swimming pool, gym and bowling alley! What do we need with a bowling alley, I ask you?’
Not long ago Charlotte would have been thrilled at such news. She remembered the first time she’d driven through Brackenheath and how her heart had sunk at the lack of such facilities but not anymore. She would much rather have the park, the trees and the Nymet.
As night fell, little solar-powered lights flickered on across the garden and staff began to line the marquee with chairs and run the sound checks. Mr Hickling got up to do the introduction, of course.
‘Welcome, friends and esteemed colleagues,’ he beamed. ‘I have invited you all tonight, for an informal chat about the fate of Brackenheath Park – especially for those of you who will not get to have your say at the council vote tomorrow; it is important to us that your voices are heard. As you know, there are plans for development with some very exciting visions for the future, but in the first instance, we need to discuss the matter of the safety of the Brackenheath Oak that was tragically struck by lightning.’
Mr Hickling gestured for the first speaker to come to the stage. At first Charlotte thought it was Mr Ransell but soon realised this must be his brother. They had the same cold grey eyes and beak-like nose.
‘Thank you, Lionel, and may I just say what a wonderful evening, it is a credit to you.’ The second Mr Ransell smiled like a shark.
‘My name is Marcus Ransell,’ the man addressed the crowd. ‘Many of you will know I am a long serving member of the local council, tirelessly working behind the scenes, not looking for glory but interested only in what is best for the local community I love.’
Charlotte wanted to vomit.
‘You may well hear many impassioned pleas tonight to save the Brackenheath Oak on grounds of spurious sentimentality.’ The second Mr Ransell stared directly at Charlotte. ‘But rest assured that a full survey has been done and the facts speak for themselves: the tree is dangerous and unstable and as such, it must come down. Heartbreaking as it may be, we must have the courage to do the right thing for the safety of all.’ Marcus Ransell left the stage to a ripple of applause.
‘Dangerous and unstable? Yes, these words certainly seem to apply, but not to the Brackenheath Oak,’ Irving Batterbee announced when it was his turn to take the stage. ‘The oak is our most famous landmark; if we destroy it, not only will we be thumbing our noses at the lessons history has to teach us, but we are missing a trick – think of the tourism possibilities.’
‘It’s already destroyed through no one’s fault. That is sad of course, but who wants to come and see a blasted stump?’ Julian Ransell challenged.
The fate of the Brackenheath Oak created more debate than the rest of the park with many of the locals getting up to say their piece. While she waited her turn Charlotte thought about the discussion she had had with Clarissa, Jude and Luned earlier that day.
‘Couldn’t we say there are great crested newts?’ Jude had offered as they sat round the kitchen table with steaming cups of tea. ‘I’m sure we could introduce one to the area,’ she’d added with a wicked smile.
‘Won’t work,’ Luned had replied flatly. ‘They’ve been in such demand in recent years their rates are through the roof. They won’t consider even a basic ‘sighting’ gig for less than 10,000 rose petals. Besides, the impact of having a ‘Newt-in-residence’ isn’t as powerful as it once was.’
> Charlotte smiled at the memory; not many families would have such strange conversations, but she knew this was bigger than newts. An entire community and their forest was at stake yet the people around her, debating the Tree Weavers’ fate, had no idea they even existed and most would not be open to the truth. She would have to find another way to convince the councillors, she thought as she took to the stage.
Isla was sitting front left so Charlotte deliberately faced slightly right; the last thing she needed was her pitying looks distracting her. Unfortunately, Sang had already left but not before wishing her good luck. Taking a deep breath, Charlotte began.
‘There has already been a warning this evening about the possibility of pleas to save the Brackenheath Oak based on sentimentality. You certainly won’t get that from me. Until a few short months ago I didn’t even know the oak existed and I hadn’t heard of Brackenheath or Wykenhall.
‘There is nothing to say that just because a tree has been struck by lightning it needs to be cut down. Many lightning-struck trees, most of them oaks, go on to live for decades: fact. The Brackenheath Oak is already showing signs of new growth: fact.
‘Thanks to this amazing tree I have discovered new family, made new friends, and found a sense of belonging I have never had before. This tree has witnessed the joys and woes of this community. It has been a reminder of home and loved ones for those who have gone to war, it has been a beacon of hope for the starving – not to mention quietly, unassumingly producing oxygen and maintaining the health of the earth on which we stand. All fact.
‘This oak has given this community so much, isn’t it time we gave something back? If it was a human, this tree would have been commemorated with a plaque or statue by now: fact. It does not need these things, however. It is its own monument. It should simply be allowed to continue to stand until the day it is ready to fall.’
Charlotte left the podium to huge applause and, with a certain satisfaction, she enjoyed the gormless look on Isla’s face.
‘Ha, Marcus, how does it feel to be outdone by a thirteen-year-old?’ Irving crowed. The second Mr Ransell was calm and measured.
‘She is an excellent speaker for sure. But common sense will prevail.’ At this, he turned and left.
Charlotte couldn’t help thinking Mr Batterbee was right, the Ransell brothers were both ‘dangerous and unstable’.
*
The day of the council vote was bright and sunny, the perfect day to be stood outside. The tables were already set up when Charlotte arrived at the town hall. The green and yellow ‘Save our Park’ banner, designed by Sissy and Charlie, was tied between the lampposts.
‘I hear you were quite a hit last night.’ Govinder made her jump.
‘Does that chair have stealth mode or something?’ Charlotte teased; she didn’t want to be the centre of attention. Of course, she couldn’t change that as Clarissa had pointed out.
Govinder gave her an evil grin and went to help Olly set up his guitar and mic.
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ Sissy chirped as she arranged and rearranged the petition forms and stickers.
Exciting wasn’t the word Charlotte would use but then, Sissy didn’t have the extra pressure of hundreds of lives in her hands so she just smiled encouragingly.
Things were soon underway with Olly, Govinder and the McNamara twins drawing in the crowds. There was a carnival feel in the air and people actually started dancing when Connor and Olly played a lively duet. Wykenhall was busy this morning and the local press and radio station, Wyked FM, were about too. By ten o’clock they had already collected eleven pages of signatures.
‘That’s thirty-two in total from what we already have.’ Isla handed the sheets to Charlotte. ‘That’s a really good result, you know.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without everyone behind me.’
Isla smiled graciously at the compliment.
Sang was in the middle of a dance when PC Taylor turned up.
‘Do you have a permit for street entertainment?’ PC Taylor asked them.
Charlotte could have kicked herself, why hadn’t she thought of that, though she was surprised Olly hadn’t.
‘Technically you should have. You’ve got quite a crowd here.’
‘So, are you going to arrest us?’ Govinder winked cheekily at the officer.
The officer smiled. ‘I’m just here to keep the peace. As long as you do, there will be no issue.’ Looking around to see there was no one else around, PC Taylor leant in and whispered, ‘So how many signatures have you got then?’ He nodded with approval when Charlotte told him. ‘Keep up the good work.’
Behind PC Taylor, Charlotte could see Julian Ransell making his way across the road like an angry bee. Before she had a chance to warn PC Taylor, he was at the officer’s shoulder.
‘I demand you remove these children at once, Officer.’
‘For what reason?’ PC Taylor asked calmly.
‘They are causing a scene.’
‘Everything is calm and good-natured here, Sir. And people are enjoying it.’
‘I pay my taxes which, I should remind you, pay your wages.’ Mr Ransell gritted his teeth.
‘As do I, Sir, as do I,’ the police officer responded wearily. ‘The thing is, my job is to enforce the law and, as I see it here, there is no law being broken. I can’t simply go about removing people without cause – that would be corrupt.’
PC Taylor seemed to be daring Mr Ransell to say another word judging by his intense stare and the teacher let out an annoyed grunt.
Some of the crowd were now watching Mr Ransell’s little outburst with amusement and some even gave a pantomime boo.
‘Why do you even care about this, Miss Stone? Do you realise what you are cheating the local people out of? All for the sake of a bloody tree.’ Mr Ransell could barely conceal his frustration.
Charlotte shrugged. ‘I’ve been a rootless nomad all my life, Sir. Now, I finally feel like I belong somewhere. My family is from this village and I have as much right to fight this as anyone.’
‘Fine. It won’t do any good anyway. That tree is still coming down.’ Mr Ransell flounced off down the street.
‘As you were, kids.’ PC Taylor winked before strolling to the back of the crowd as Olly began his rendition of ‘The Tale of the Lightning Struck Oak’.
Just before midday, Irving Batterbee arrived at the town hall.
‘Well, it’s the moment of truth, kids. Have you got the petition?’ Charlotte handed him forty sheets of paper. ‘Excellent, now we just need a little common sense to prevail and this will all be over.’
*
It seemed like hours before the council meeting was over and the wait was agonising. Unfortunately, the look on Mr Batterbee’s face did not offer hope.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte, I really am, but there was nothing I could do, the board was stitched up like a kipper,’ Irving fumed. ‘I wasn’t a lone voice, you managed to convince quite a few so you should feel very proud, but that rascal Marcus and his brother, well… it was an inside job! Nothing would trump the health and safety card.’ Irving Batterbee looked genuinely disappointed.
‘So that’s it?’
‘I’m afraid so. The tree comes down after the weekend.’
*
Charlotte was stroking the branches and leaves of the Nymet when Tar’sel arrived and though she had her back to him, he could tell something was wrong.
‘I take it “media” didn’t work then?’ he said with a tone of disappointment.
Charlotte smiled weakly at his faith in ‘Albion magic’ as he saw it. She turned to face him and shook her head. They sat together under the now full canopy of fresh, though still sickly looking, leaves as Charlotte relayed the events of the past few days, including the Seelie Court proceedings, petitions and speeches.
‘It’s just not safe for you to be here; if the courts work out it’s you who taught me to weave they will come after you,’ she concluded.
‘Languishing in F
ey jail might just make me the last surviving Tree Weaver,’ Tar’sel laughed bitterly, ‘but it sounds like weaving won’t do any good anyway. Now what then?’
Charlotte considered the message Sang had given her. Tar’sel wasn’t going to like it but she didn’t see what else they could do.
‘We go and see the Manush de Bar.’
Tar’sel paled. ‘Are you mad, they’re just… a children’s story… they’re not real.’
‘Then why are you so scared?’ Charlotte challenged him. ‘Look, Sang said my sister told her that’s where we need to go and I trust her with my life.’ Charlotte didn’t mention that saving the Nymet was not her only motivation.
‘It’s not just your life though, is it,’ Tar’sel replied flatly. ‘I’m sure your sister has the best of intentions but what can she possibly know about the Vorla? They are likely to kill us before we get anywhere near them.’
‘Quite impressive for a make-believe creature.’ Charlotte couldn’t help the sarcasm, she was as nervous about this plan as Tar’sel was. ‘What choice do we have?’ she added more gently.
Tar’sel was still unconvinced, but he couldn’t argue. ‘To the Vorla it is then. I’ll make the arrangements.’
The Detention
Charlotte wasn’t looking forward to biology class. Since the incident outside the town hall, she suspected Mr Ransell would still be in a foul mood in spite of his win, and she wasn’t wrong. The sight of packets of seeds, plant pots and compost on the desks made her even more anxious.
‘In keeping with the theme of the year that seems to have been set by Miss Stone, today’s lesson will see us exploring the world of plant growth, starting with the analysis of positive and negative tropisms. In front of you, you have the ingredients to design your first experiment.’
Charlotte could feel cold fear creeping through her torso as she stared at the offending packet of seeds. This could be over very quickly, she thought, thinking of the skills Tar’sel had taught her.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 18
