The Monsters of Rookhaven

by Padraig Kenny

  He reached into his waistcoat, took out his notebook and waved it and his pencil at Jem by way of explanation.

  ‘I like experiences, you see. I like to record them. I like . . .’ He looked up and pointed at the sky with his pencil. ‘This. I like how it’s different to inside and . . .’ He opened the notebook and started to flick through the pages. ‘I like to record the food I eat because I’ve never eaten like your kind have. I’ve never . . .’

  Jem seemed genuinely intrigued and she nodded for him to go on.

  Bertram swallowed nervously. ‘I’ve never actually been able to taste your food, but I do like to . . . I like to try.’ He waved around him again. ‘And being out here . . .’ He looked pleased with himself, then did a little nervous shuffle from one foot to the other.

  ‘Were you tempted to wander, Uncle?’

  Bertram hunched his shoulders up and looked at the ground.

  ‘What else were you thinking about when you were looking at the stars?’

  Bertram looked bashfully at her. He shook his head.

  ‘Were you thinking about Aunt Rula?’ Mirabelle winked at Jem.

  ‘No,’ he said, toeing the ground with a boot. ‘Maybe,’ he said, looking guilty.

  Mirabelle felt an overwhelming urge to hug him, but she stayed where she was. The guilt came when she thought about what she was about to do next.

  ‘You know you can’t go looking for her?’

  ‘I know that,’ Bertram snorted, scratching the back of his neck.

  ‘And you know you shouldn’t be out here.’

  ‘Neither should you,’ said Bertram, sounding like a petulant five-year-old.

  ‘It would be terrible if Enoch were to find that you were out here,’ said Mirabelle.

  ‘It would be worse if he knew you were out here,’ Bertram responded.

  Mirabelle shrugged. ‘I’m already in lots of trouble, Uncle. It doesn’t matter to me. Jem and I are going to the village.’

  Bertram looked shocked. ‘You can’t do that,’ he whispered.

  ‘We can and we will, Uncle. The only thing is, are we going to tell Enoch about what you’ve done?’

  Bertram looked panicked. He fiddled with his cravat. Mirabelle felt genuinely terrible, but she’d seen an advantage and she was going to take it.

  ‘You wouldn’t. That’s not fair,’ said Bertram.

  ‘I wouldn’t, but only under certain circumstances.’

  Bertram stopped playing with his cravat. ‘Under what circumstances?’

  Mirabelle sighed. ‘Well, there is one thing . . .’

  ‘What? What is it?’ asked Bertram, his face twitching with hope.

  Mirabelle smiled. ‘The village is three miles away, and it would be nice if we could get there and back before anyone notices we’re missing.’

  Jem

  Jem had never ridden on a horse before, let alone on a giant bear.

  As they pounded down the road on Bertram’s back, she could feel the muscles beneath his skin working like iron pistons. She held on as tightly as possible to his fur, and she marvelled at how, with his loping run, it felt as if they were gliding between each footfall and then thudding against the earth only to rise again and glide . . .

  Bertram had grumbled a little when Mirabelle had told him what she wanted, but eventually he’d relented, only making one request, and that was that Jem turn round while he ‘shed’ his aspect and put on what he called his ‘proper one’.

  She already knew about Bertram’s bear aspect, but Jem still marvelled when she turned back round to see a ton of fur and claws and teeth and muscle standing before her. Bertram’s red eyes glimmered in the night, and he lowered himself onto his forepaws, allowing Jem and Mirabelle to climb up on to his back.

  Before she knew it, they were away. The wind blew back her hair as they hurtled through the night, and she had to use all her might to stay on board. She was terrified, but exhilarated, and she and Mirabelle laughed together when they glanced at each other.

  Jem craned her neck up at one point, and she saw the stars. As she gazed at them, they were blotted out for a second, before reappearing then disappearing again. It took her a few moments to realize what she was seeing.

  The ravens were following them.

  Bertram slowed before the bend that would eventually take them into the village. He padded gently to where the forest edge met the road leading in, and Mirabelle and Jem climbed off him and took up a position just behind a tree. Jem was surprised at how disappointed she felt at reaching the end of their journey and, though she still felt a little giddy, she was already looking forward to the trip back.

  Her attention was caught by something across the road, and she saw the one-eyed raven settle on a branch.

  Mirabelle noticed it too. ‘Nosy,’ she said, scowling, and turned her attention back to the village.

  Bertram sidled up to them in his human aspect.

  ‘This is very bad. We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s forbidden,’ he hissed.

  ‘Quiet, Uncle. If we do this properly, no one will know.’

  ‘This is very bad,’ he repeated, chewing on a knuckle.

  Mirabelle took the first step towards the village. Jem’s heart fluttered.

  ‘Why can’t any of you come to the village?’ she whispered to Bertram.

  ‘It’s part of the Covenant, an agreement that goes back generations,’ he said, now chewing on his cravat. ‘No one from the Family may enter the village, and no one from the village may enter the estate.’

  ‘There are exceptions,’ said Mirabelle. ‘There’s Mr Fletcher, whose family has been bringing us meat for years. His father did it before him—’

  ‘And his father before him, and his father before—’

  ‘Yes, Uncle, I think Jem understands.’

  ‘And then there’s Dr Ellenby.’

  ‘He holds the key that allows Mr Fletcher to open the way through the Glamour, which leads on to the Path of Flowers.’

  ‘Like his father be—’

  Bertram stopped when Mirabelle frowned at him.

  Mirabelle continued. ‘But the way in is no longer hidden, thanks to the fracture in the Glamour. He knows more than anyone about the matters relating to my family and the village. And he was there when I was . . .’

  Jem noticed that Mirabelle seemed to be struggling with the idea.

  ‘. . . born, I suppose.’

  There was an awkward silence. No one seemed to know what to say.

  A raven flapped above their heads and landed on a branch. Mirabelle glared at it.

  She turned to Bertram.

  ‘Where is it, Uncle?’

  ‘Where’s what?’ asked a bemused-looking Bertram.

  ‘Where’s Dr Ellenby’s house? I’ve seen you looking at the old maps.’

  Bertram turned to Jem. ‘I like looking at maps too. Maps are very interesting. When I’m looking at them, I like to find places I’ve never been and imagine I’m there and that—’

  ‘Uncle!’

  Bertram pointed to the opening of a laneway at the end of a row of houses. ‘I think it’s down there.’ The village was almost in total darkness, and Jem felt a tickle of fear and excitement.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Mirabelle, waving them all forward.

  They crouched low and headed in the direction of the houses.

  The path was narrow. It stretched the length of four derelict dwellings. Two of them were boarded up; two others had broken windows that yawned into the night. The lane was bordered by grass on either side and dipped in the middle, which meant it was wet underfoot because water had pooled in the channel. Jem’s feet felt damp, but this wasn’t too much of a problem. The problem was the fact that the laneway was very short and terminated at the entrance to the village green. It continued again at the other end of the green, which meant they would be exposed for a few moments before finding cover again.

  They stopped at the mouth of the lane, and Jem could feel her neck and shoulders tight
en with tension. Bertram pointed to the other end of the green and mouthed, ‘Over there.’ Mirabelle raised a hand, signalling them all to wait.

  Jem listened. She could hear the breeze and the distant bark of a dog, but nothing else. She was used to moments like this; she’d experienced so many of them while on the run with Tom, stealing about under cover of darkness. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like, and she was surprised to find that part of her had missed it.

  ‘Low and quiet,’ Mirabelle hissed.

  They broke cover and skirted the edge of the green. The local church loomed above it on the far side, dark against the night sky, clouds scudding past its spire, and Jem couldn’t help but feel exposed beneath the starlight.

  They made their way into the opposite laneway. There was a grassy slope to their left, and a row of terraced houses to their right. This lane was longer than its counterpart across the green, and they had to make their way past several houses before Bertram stopped, put a hand on Mirabelle’s shoulder, and nodded at a door. There was a plaque beside it with the words Dr Marcus Ellenby, General Practitioner engraved on it.

  ‘All right,’ said Mirabelle, straightening up.

  Jem noticed how she hesitated for a moment, as if not quite sure what to do next. Or maybe she was frightened by what she might discover. Jem looked at her encouragingly. Mirabelle understood her silent message and nodded in gratitude. She took a deep breath then knocked on the door.

  A light came on in the hallway, glowing a warm gold in the arched window above the door. The door opened, and Dr Ellenby stood there, blinking in astonishment.

  ‘Mirabelle? Bertram? And Jem from London? To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘I have questions,’ said Mirabelle.

  Dr Ellenby nodded, stood to one side and waved them in. ‘Then I shall endeavour to answer them.’

  He led them through to his study.

  ‘Would you like a brandy?’ he asked.

  Jem sat in a leather chair. There were framed photos on the mantle behind her, and bookcases lined three of the walls. Mirabelle sat in an armchair to Jem’s left, while Bertram sat next to Mirabelle. Dr Ellenby was behind his desk, holding up a bottle of brandy and a glass.

  Jem was a bit confused about who the question was addressed to. The doctor’s eyes twinkled with good humour as he noted her confusion.

  ‘I meant, of course, those who are of an age to partake,’ he said.

  Bertram raised a hand, and fished around in his jacket pocket before bringing out his notebook and pencil in readiness.

  ‘How’s Tom?’ asked Dr Ellenby while pouring some brandy.

  ‘Good, thank you, Doctor,’ said Jem. She liked the doctor; he exuded warmth and reassurance. You only had to look at his eyes to see that he was a kind man.

  ‘That’s a relief. I hear he had a little experience with Piglet.’

  Jem wasn’t sure what to say. Mercifully, Mirabelle interrupted.

  ‘I had a similar experience, and I learned about some things, but I’d rather know more.’

  Dr Ellenby regarded her for a moment as he passed the brandy to Bertram. Bertram snatched the glass with two hands, like an eager toddler grabbing a bottle of milk.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Bertram, smacking his lips loudly. He’d already downed his brandy and was holding the glass out for a second tot. ‘That was . . . well, I think it was lovely. I’m not sure.’ He put the glass on the desk and started to open his notebook on his lap. ‘What would you say were the constituent elements of the flavour of this brandy? Might it share any similarities with, say, that of egg, or indeed ice cream?’

  Dr Ellenby’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he poured another brandy.

  ‘I think perhaps, Bertram, that someone else here might have questions of a more important nature.’

  Bertram looked confused for a moment, then he glanced down the line at Jem and Mirabelle and wagged his pencil in the air.

  ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said. He turned back to scribbling in his notebook.

  Dr Ellenby put his elbows up on the desk and joined his hands together.

  ‘Ask me anything, Mirabelle,’ he said.

  ‘What was her name?’ Mirabelle asked.

  Jem noticed the way Dr Ellenby’s mouth twitched, and the sorrow in his blue eyes.

  ‘Alice. Your mother’s name was Alice,’ he said quietly.

  There was silence in the room, broken only by the reassuring ticking of the grandfather clock behind Dr Ellenby.

  ‘She was lovely,’ said Bertram in an awestruck whisper. ‘Dr Ellenby thought so, didn’t you, Dr Ellenby?’

  Dr Ellenby closed his eyes and gave a sigh, and Jem knew that kind of sigh. She knew the pain of loss when she saw it. He opened his eyes again and tried his best to smile, but she could tell it was difficult for him.

  ‘Yes, she was,’ he said.

  ‘Enoch thought so too,’ said Bertram raising his glass. ‘In fact, he was in love with her.’

  Dr Ellenby plonked the brandy bottle in front of Bertram. ‘Take the bottle please, Bertram. Drink quietly, there’s a good chap.’

  Bertram took the bottle gratefully and licked his lips.

  ‘Enoch was in love with her?’ said Mirabelle.

  Jem noticed how completely still she was.

  Dr Ellenby took off his glasses and cleaned them with a cloth. ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mirabelle. ‘I saw him when Piglet’s mind touched mine. I saw lots of things. I saw you, Dr Ellenby. I saw you on the Path of Flowers. I saw you because Piglet saw you. You were leaving the house the night my mother died.’

  Dr Ellenby paused in cleaning his glasses. He put them on slowly and sighed, and now Jem saw the regret and grief in his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘She was beautiful,’ said Mirabelle. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She died from blood loss during childbirth,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Giving birth to me.’

  Dr Ellenby shook his head. ‘Now you mustn’t think like that, Mirabelle. It wasn’t your fault.’

  Mirabelle nodded. ‘It wasn’t yours either.’

  ‘That’s what we kept telling him at the time,’ Bertram said.

  ‘Where did she come from?’ asked Mirabelle.

  Mirabelle was poised, her back straight with tension as she waited for the answer.

  ‘She came to the house for sanctuary, as some have done before. Except this time she wasn’t one of the Family. She was human. She came to me first because she’d heard I was trusted by the Family, and so I brought her to the house.’

  ‘And Enoch let her stay. Why?’

  Dr Ellenby and Bertram exchanged a glance.

  Dr Ellenby tapped the table. ‘Because Enoch always felt responsible for those of his kind. Your mother was human, Mirabelle, but your father was a member of the Family. This meant you would be a member of the Family too. No one who is of the Family has ever been turned away.’

  Mirabelle nodded, and she frowned as she took in the information. ‘I understand. But tell me, who was my father? Where is he now?’

  Dr Ellenby threw up his hands. ‘Nobody knows. She rarely spoke of him. All she could tell us was that he was a member of the Family who had chosen a life in the human world. For all we know he may still be out there somewhere.’

  ‘And why did nobody tell me all this?’

  Dr Ellenby and Bertram exchanged another look.

  ‘Because Enoch forbade it. He made a solemn promise to your mother to be your guardian and to look after you,’ said Bertram. ‘No one was allowed to tell you. I wanted to tell you, and Odd did too.’

  ‘But why did he forbid it?’ said Mirabelle, her jaw clenched, eyes shining with anger.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mirabelle. You’ll have to ask Enoch that,’ said Dr Ellenby. He leaned back in his chair, and Jem noticed how tired and old he looked, as if he’d just exerted himself by carrying a great weight.

  Mirabelle looked at her hands in
her lap. ‘Right, I see. But tell me, Doctor, and I’m asking you now in your professional capacity, can you help me?’

  Dr Ellenby leaned across the desk, his brow knotted with concern. ‘Of course, Mirabelle. What is it?’

  Mirabelle looked up at him, her grey eyes cloudy with tears. She slapped a hand against her chest. ‘It’s just that since I’ve learned about my mother I’ve been experiencing this pain. It comes and goes. And it hurts. It hurts so much.’

  Mirabelle lowered her head. Jem could feel the hot sting of tears in her own eyes, and she wiped them with her sleeve.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mirabelle, but that’s grief. It’s something we humans experience. I’m afraid there’s no cure for it,’ said Dr Ellenby.

  Jem felt a fierceness take hold of her. She was angry that Dr Ellenby seemed so useless. The slack-jawed look of Bertram beside Mirabelle didn’t help matters. She got up from her chair, leaned over to Mirabelle and held her tightly. Mirabelle seemed surprised, but she returned the hug fiercely.

  ‘It never goes away,’ Jem said to Mirabelle, ‘but it does become less painful with time.’

  Mirabelle looked up at her. She seemed reassured and she tried to smile. Jem squeezed her arm and sat back down.

  ‘She’s right, Mirabelle, it does,’ said Dr Ellenby. ‘There is no cure, but time heals the wound.’

  Bertram nodded. ‘Yes, it does,’ he said. He looked quizzically at Dr Ellenby. ‘Does it?’

  Dr Ellenby looked at the now empty brandy bottle and sighed. ‘Oh, Bertram.’

  Mirabelle took a deep breath, straightened her back and stood up. ‘We should go,’ she said.

  Jem was impressed by her strength and poise.

  Mirabelle reached a hand across the desk. ‘Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been most helpful. And kind.’

  She looked him straight in the eye, and he shook her hand and nodded in appreciation.

  Bertram stood up, notebook in hand. ‘Carrot, perhaps? Does it taste of carrot?’

  Dr Ellenby raised his eyebrows at him.

  ‘Goodbye, Bertram. I’m glad you enjoyed my brandy.’

  Dr Ellenby escorted them all to the front door. Jem stole a quick glance at Mirabelle, and Mirabelle nodded to let her know she was all right. Despite her upset, Jem could see that she was already stronger. Looking at her like this made her proud of her friend.