But in the still of the night, Peter thought he could hear the girl’s cries again – breathing faintly on the breeze. Something else too – a dog maybe? More of a growl than a bark. Distant and distorted. It could be anything – a train, or a lorry, or…
Or it could be a wolf.
And voices.
He could hear voices.
There was a stone wall beside the road. With no streetlights in the village, everything was reduced to shadows and patches of moonlight. Above the wall loomed the dark shape of the church. It looked like there might be a gate in the wall further along, steps leading up to the churchyard.
The voices came from the other side of the wall. Peter wondered if he should call out a greeting. Instead he decided to head back to the pub.
A figure appeared above the wall – head and shoulders against the moonlight. Instinctively Peter stepped into the shadow of the wall. Immediately he cursed himself for being daft. But if someone saw him now it would look like he was hiding and eavesdropping.
“It has to be tomorrow,” a voice said – not the figure by the wall, but another man. “If we wait any longer…”
Peter caught a glimpse of straggly hair over the man’s collar as he turned. A beaky nose and thin-lipped mouth. One ear was a ragged mess, like a toy mauled by a dog. Peter grimaced, and held his breath.
“Tomorrow then,” the man with the ragged ear said. “After what happened today that’d probably be as well. So long as it’s before the Old One gets here. You know he doesn’t approve.”
“You think I care what he thinks?”
The voices were moving away, fading. With a sigh of relief, Peter stepped away from the wall. Who meets in a churchyard at the dead of night, he wondered. As he moved, his foot connected with a stone and sent it skittering into the road.
He froze, holding his breath. He was being stupid, he told himself – it was probably the vicar and a churchwarden. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just out for a walk. He wasn’t at school any more, caught where he shouldn’t be. He wasn’t a kid.
Heart thumping, Peter stepped out from the shadows and turned towards the pub. At the same moment, a dark shape jumped out from the top of the wall, landing on the road, its hindquarters right in front of him. It was a dog. But huge – like a massive Alsatian. Peter pressed back against the rough stone of the wall, stifling a cry as he jarred his shoulder. Then, just as he thought the dog was about to turn and see him, it bounded off down the road.
There was a man standing exactly where Peter had been, beside the flowers. Absolutely still, one hand raised to his head. Even from across the car park, even though he was barely more than a silhouette, Peter was sure the man was watching him.
In a sudden movement, the man stepped forward. He lowered his hand, snapping closed his phone. “Peter!”
Sebastian Forrest strode across the car park.
“Only place you can get a decent signal round here. Are you okay? You look pale. Maybe it’s the moonlight.”
They walked slowly back to the pub.
“I was just out for a walk,” Peter explained. He felt he ought to say something. “Down to the church and back.”
Forrest nodded. “Bits of it are thirteenth century, but it’s not terribly remarkable. Some of the stained glass is interesting, I believe. Not that I’dknow.”
“Nor me,” Peter said. “But I did see…” He broke off and laughed.
“What?” Forrest pushed open the door and motioned for Peter to go in ahead of him. He smiled. “What did you see?”
“Oh, just a dog. Big though.”
“A lot of the farmers have dogs. They’re not uncommon.”
“This one was,” Peter said. “It was huge. Looked more like a wolf.”
“A wolf?” Forrest seemed startled for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh right, very funny.”
“Sorry?”
Forrest’s smile became a slight frown. “You don’t know? About the wolves?”
“I know they’re on the du Bois crest and this place is called Wolfstone.”
Forrest checked his watch. “Look, I’dbetter find David and let him know I’m back. You free tomorrow morning?”
“I guess so… I can be.”
“Good. Then let’s meet down here – at, what, ten o”clock? – and I’ll take you to see the wolves.”
Forrest clapped Peter on the shoulder, amused, and headed off to the bar. Peter watched him go, wondering what the man meant. He turned, and almost bumped into Carys.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
She smiled. “That’s all right. So, you’re off to see the wolves tomorrow?”
She must have overheard. “Apparently. What did he mean?”
“You’ll find out.” She tilted her head slightly, watching his reaction. “Mind if I come along?”
His father didn’t seem at all fazed the next morning, when Peter told him where he was going. But maybe that was just Dad. You could tell him you were off to the moon, and he’d probably have the same reaction – a nod, a smile and, “Okay, see you later then. I’ll be up at the circle most of the day.”
Peter half expected that Carys wouldn’t appear. But she was already waiting when Peter met Forrest in the bar.
“Got your phone?” she asked.
He pulled it out of his pocket. “Will it get a signal there?” Not that he knew where “there” was.
She took it from him, thumbing buttons. “Might do. But I meant for the camera. You’ll get pictures.”
Peter nodded. But what of? he wondered silently.
She gave him back the phone. “I’ve put my number in it.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Isn’t David coming?” Carys asked as they left the pub.
Forrest shook his head. “He’s got work to do.” He didn’t explain what.
“We’ve all got work to do,” she said.
Peter’s heart skipped a beat – would Carys back out?
“But so long as I’m back to help Mum with lunch… If the weather holds we should get a few tourists passing through. What are you grinning at?”
“Sorry.” Peter hadn’t realised he was grinning. What an idiot! He turned away, catching sight of the clump of little flowers close by as they walked to Forrest’s car. The flowers were closed up in tight buds again.
“They were open last night,” he murmured.
Whether Carys heard him or guessed what he was thinking, he didn’t know. “They open at night.”
“That’s unusual.”
“Unique,” Forrest agreed. “That’s why they’re called maiden’s tears. Secret and closed up during the day, they only appear at night. Private and alone.”
“Why?” Peter asked as they got into the car. He let Carys take the front seat.
“Best time to cry is at night,” Carys said quietly.
“No, I mean… can they photosynthesise?”
“Yes, the leaves can. And there’s the moonlight,” she told him.
“Weird. I’ve never heard of them before.”
“They only grow round here.”
They returned to the main Gloucester road, then turned off again down a narrow lane. Peter reckoned they were curling round the back of Wolfstone Manor.
Finally, Forrest turned the car into a small gateway. Ahead of them, Peter could see a modern building – low, red brick, like an office. Beside it were high metal fences, and behind was the edge of the wood that joined the grounds of Wolfstone Manor. There was a small parking area to the front, and Forrest drew up next to an old battered Land Rover.
“What is this place?” Peter asked as they got out of the car.
“Welcome to Wolfstone Lupine Sanctuary,” Forrest said proudly.
“Is it yours?”
“It’s a charity, but I sponsor some of their work.”
“With wolves?”
“You’ll see,” Carys said.
A woman emerged from the office building. Her d
ark hair was streaked with grey and she had the slightly weathered features of someone who works outdoors. She greeted Forrest enthusiastically, shaking his hand.
“We’re not interrupting?” he asked.
“Never. It’s always a pleasure.” The woman nodded at Carys, then turned to Peter. She extended her hand again. “Janey Donovan.”
“Peter Crichton.”
“It’s just me today, I’m afraid.”
She led them into the building. There was a plaque beside the door with a logo on it. No words of explanation, just a symbol of two squares on top of each other, like a blocky number 8.
“Josh is down in London lobbying another MP or something,” Janey Donovan was saying. “I haven’t seen Eddie. I think one of the farmers called him out. He’s our vet,” she explained to Peter.
“Josh said there was some paperwork,” Forrest said. “Why don’t I sort that out while you show Peter and Carys around?”
“I think Carys knows her way around,” Janey said.
The wolves were penned in by the metal fences Peter had seen. From a distance, they looked like large dogs – a sort of cross between Alsatian and Husky. Several of the animals paced along the side of the fences. There was a pent-up energy, a raw power in every step. Their grey pelts glistened in the morning light.
“Is it some kind of zoo?” Peter asked.
“Heavens, no,” Janey said.
“And these are wolves?”
“Lupus Ferus,” Carys said. “Isn’t that right?”
She was standing closer to the fence than Peter – closer than he was happy to go. One of the wolves was watching her through yellow-tinged eyes. Maybe it recognised her.
“Canis Lupus Ferus, yes,” Janey said. “They’re a Siberian hunting wolf. Similar to the grey wolf, but rather larger. They’re quite rare in fact. But they seem better suited to the environment here than some other breeds.”
Peter watched the two women as, in turn, they watched the wolf staring back at them.
“Are you studying them?”
“We’re taking the opportunity to observe the wolves” behaviour and how they cope with the change of physical and social environment. These animals have been specially imported from Russia, though they come via Poland.”
“Why Poland?” Carys asked.
“They don’t stop there long. Helps them adjust to the change in temperature, but it’s really so they can get a proper medical check before being admitted to the UK. They have to be screened to make sure they’re free of any infection or disease. The Home Office rather insists.”
“The Home Office?” Peter echoed.
“They’re following our progress carefully. After all, any reintroduction will need government backing. Possibly a change in the law.”
“Reintroduction – of wolves? To England?”
Janey laughed. “Sorry, I’m not really selling us very well am I? To Scotland actually. But that’s the ultimate goal, yes.”
Peter was astonished. “But – they’re wolves.”
“Wolves aren’t really dangerous,” Carys told him. “Not usually.”
“Which is why they’re caged up, of course.” It sounded more sarky than he’d intended.
“It’s a controlled experiment,” Janey said. “We can’t let them just run free. They’re all chipped so we can track them – this run links into others so they actually have several acres of space.”
“You’re sure they aren’t dangerous?”
The wolf nearest them raised its head. It stared back at Peter, as if it was listening. Then it leaned back further, jaw upwards, and howled. It was a mournful, haunting sound. Like the wind. Peter was sure he’d heard it before, faint and distant.
“The wolf isn’t a vicious or aggressive animal,” Janey said.
“Just a large dog?” Peter asked. He’d heard that somewhere before.
“Like a hunting dog,” Carys agreed. “Real wolves only harm humans when they believe they’re in danger.”
“What do you mean, ‘real’?”
Carys blinked. “Sorry?”
“You said ‘real wolves’ aren’t dangerous to humans.”
“Well, you know – real wolves. Not wolves like in Red Riding Hood or the Three Little Pigs, or films or whatever.” Carys smiled. “Surely boys like Peter aren’t afraid of wolves?”
Peter obviously looked confused, because Janey explained. “It’s a quote. From Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf.”
They moved on, walking alongside the fence. The closest wolf paced with them for a while, then got bored and loped off to join a few others a distance away.
“They’re pack animals, but loners too if that isn’t too much of a contradiction,” Janey said. “It’s good to see them back.”
“There were wolves here before then?” Peter asked.
“How do you think Wolfstone got its name?” Carys asked. “There were wolves in the woods round here right up till the eighteenth century. Maybe later.”
“And now you’re bringing them back,” Peter said. There was another group of wolves gathered round a clump of trees ahead of them. It was easy to believe they were no more dangerous than large dogs. Until one turned and looked at you. There was something about that look – a depth, an intelligence behind the eyes… a hunger.
“Not to here, not to Wolfstone,” Janey said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Just Scotland, then?”
“The Highlands of Scotland,” Carys said, “is where the last wolf was killed in Britain in 1769.”
“You know a lot about it.”
She shrugged and moved closer to the fence, watching the animals. One hand against the wire, long-nailed fingers curled through the mesh.
“But why do it at all?” Peter wondered.
“All sorts of reasons,” Janey said. “Tourism is an obvious one, and that would boost the local economy and provide jobs in areas where agriculture’s in decline. But bringing back wolves, in controlled numbers of course, could also stop the red deer from becoming too prevalent.”
“Is that important?”
“Reduces the cost and problem of culling them, and it’dincrease biodiversity. Control the deer and you’ll get a greater variety of plants and birds. Helps reforestation too.”
“Sounds like a no-brainer then.”
“Except for the emotive issues. Most people, like you, think wolves are a danger.”
Peter didn’t reply. The wolves still looked pretty dangerous to him. Janey left the two of them to wander round while she went back to see how Forrest was doing with the paperwork.
“Probably gift-aiding another million,” Carys said. They walked slowly back by the fence. “We’re lucky to see so many of them. The fenced area includes part of the wood – they’re usually off there. Josh says there’s a whole pack arriving soon,” she went on. “Josh is usually in charge here, but Janey’s the one who’s good with animals.”
Peter watched Carys as she followed one of the wolves with her eyes. It bounded past them and off into the distance.
“You really like them, don’t you?” he said.
Her expression of awe and wonder became a frown. “They’re dreadful creatures,” she told him coldly. “Terrifying.”
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he’d said, but her tone told him he should apologise. “I just thought you were… fascinated.”
“You don’t have to like something to find it fascinating,” she said. “You fancy walking back?”
The change of subject threw him for a moment. “On my own?”
“With me, stupid.” Her frown was gone and the half-smile was back.
One of the wolves paced with them along the wire. The fence led into the trees, but Carys followed a path that bent away from the pen and turned back towards the manor. Behind them one wolf gave out a mournful howl.
“If the wind’s in the right direction, you can hear them at night back at the Fleece,” Carys said.
“Especially when it’s a ful
l moon?” Peter joked.
But she wasn’t amused. “That’s not even a bit funny, you know.”
“Sorry.”
They walked on in silence. Peter was desperate to talk to her, but everything he thought of saying sounded completely daft or obvious when he practised it in his head.
Eventually Carys said, “So how long are you here for?”
“Don’t know really. Till Dad finishes his survey, or Mum gets back from the States. Or until I get bored.”
She gave a snort of laughter. “Surprised you haven’t left already.”
“You’re still here,” he pointed out. “Still in Wolfstone.”
“Mum needs the help. But next year I might do a course. The college in Cheltenham does some catering and tourism and business management stuff.”
“That what you’re interested in?”
“No,” she said simply.
“Then – why…?”
“It’s what I know. It’s what I do. Me and Mum.”
“And Mr Seymour.”
The path was getting narrower. Her hand brushed against his as they walked. For a fleeting, mad moment he thought about taking hold of it. Carys stopped and looked at him. Had she guessed what he was thinking?
“Sorry,” he said.
“What is it with you apologising all the time?”
“I’m not falling for that,” he said. “I’m not saying sorry about apologising. But you just stopped. I thought I’d done something wrong.”
“Like what?”
“Er… not sure actually.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That way will take you back to the circle, across the fields.” She pointed at another narrow path that intersected the one they were following. “This way is back to the Fleece.”
“Right.” He tried not to sound disappointed. “Time to part company, then?”
She nodded slowly. The light shining down through the canopy of trees dappled her face. “Or if you stay with me, there’s a way back to the circle through the old manor grounds once we leave the wood. But that’s a bit further.”
He didn’t hesitate. “That sounds good.”
“Your choice.” She walked on.
The Wolfstone Curse Page 5
