The Windvale Sprites by Mackenzie Crook Read Free Book Online Page B

moth-eaten hangings on the walls and, on a solid oak table by a window, a bottle of wine and a glass, the contents of which had long since evaporated leaving a dark residue. It was creepy, abandoned in a hurry like the Mary Celeste , and so caked in grime that anything he touched stirred up a cloud of dust. To search through everything would have taken weeks and Asa didn’t quite know what he was looking for – anyway, he had the information he needed in the journals. If anything, this discovery was just confirming what Asa already suspected, that Benjamin Tooth was a madman, and an unpleasant one at that.
    He was about to head back to the moor when something on a dresser caught his eye. It was a small model of a tricycle intricately made from twisted wire and sitting on a wooden base. Closer inspection revealed it to be not so much a model but a working miniature with pedals and a chain that, though now rusted, had once worked like a real tricycle. Tiny straps, perished strips of leather, had once been attached to the saddle, pedals and handlebars and as he studied it Asa came to realise with horror what it was for. It was exactly the right size for one of the sprites to ride but only after it had been tied to the contraption.
    Asa wondered what the ‘scientist’ had been up to, as if the discovery of a new species on the moor was not enough, it seemed as though Tooth had been intent on getting the creatures to perform tricks. This idea, along with the overpowering smell of mould and damp made Asa feel slightly sick and he carefully made his way back outside into the sunshine and fresh air. He knew all he wanted to know about Benjamin Tooth and decided he didn’t much like the man.
    The rest of the day Asa spent searching for the sprites in vain. He poked around in countless rabbit holes looking for signs of life but to no avail and if it were not for his earlier encounter he might possibly have given up hope. But he knew they were here and he was determined to find them. As the shadows once again started to lengthen at the end of the day he decided to set the bucket trap anyway by an old warren not far from the tent.
    Wearing the gloves, he wedged the bucket into a rabbit hole, placed one shiny coin in the bottom and scattered a few more on the grass around it. Then he put one of Mum’s chopping boards over the bucket, propping up one edge on a twig to which he tied the end of the fishing wire. Then he made his way back to the tent, unwinding the wire as he went.
    Once in his shelter he lay down on his front and watched the trap through the binoculars, holding tight to the trip wire, until it got too dark to see.
     

13
     

Capture
     
     
    He awoke at first light with his head still outside the tent and dew on his hair and eyelashes. He found he was still gripping the fishing wire in his fist but looking through the binoculars he could see that the lid of the trap was still propped up on the twig.
    He set up the spirit stove and cooked some eggs and bacon, which he ate in the chilly morning air as the moor started to wake around him and birds emerged from who-knows-where to chase midges.
    He decided to set his trap at a likely looking place he had seen by the stream near some old rabbit holes. But as he rewound the fishing wire he realised with a start that the coins were gone. None on the ground and none in the bucket. He searched in the grass for a short while but was convinced they had been taken, and taken by something nimble enough to get into the bucket and out again without disturbing the trap.
    He looked around him. Were they watching him? He felt as though he was being watched but, then again, he often did.
    He decided to reset the trap in the same position; the wind was blowing back towards the tent, which would disguise his smell. He fished in his pockets for two more coins, placed one in the bucket, one on the grass, and retraced his steps, unravelling the line as he went.
    Back at the tent he heaped