by Kit Cox
Bending down, Ben cleared the vines from the gravestone, making sure not to break any and bring down the wrath of the Bogle. His heart was beating so fast that he could hardly hear the buzz of the insects for the rush of blood in his own ears. The name on the grave, however, made him stop dead:
Thomas Samuel Granger.
Ben whispered the haunting closing line of old Harry’s poem: ‘“Where young Tom Granger was laid to rest / To tend his cherries as he knows best.”’
Ben’s eyes turned towards the pit trap he had so narrowly avoided and leaning carefully over he pulled back the vines to reveal what clearly had once been a grave. Its sides had been dug down into the shallow top soil, but where the soil turned to chalk the grave digger had simply cut the soft stone away, leaving a perfectly rectangular hole. What remained of Tom Granger’s coffin lay at the bottom of the white chalk pit but the body of Tom Granger was nowhere to be seen.
Ben knew graves and he knew the bodies of the dead. Even if animals had got into the broken coffin there would be remnants of the skeleton, but here was an orchard where no animal trod and he knew at once the body of Tom Granger was not at rest and that could only mean one thing. For whatever reason – for whatever twisted soul-wrenching reason – Tom Granger still protected his orchard.
‘As he knows best.’
The wind seemed to whisper through the trees and the blood ran cold in Ben’s veins. Seized by panic, he practically scurried from the graveside and stumbled through the orchard, the sea breeze whispering through the trees as he fled from beneath the fruit-rich branches and out into the sun.
He was all set to run. He had chosen his path badly; he couldn’t protect the children. What had he been thinking? He was a child himself; he should have gone with the Gypsies and his friend. There were trained people for monster hunting. Jack Union and his ilk were there to protect the world against monsters, and those they didn’t protect … the children, well, Nanny Belle protected them. Benjamin Jackson Gaul hadn’t even managed to protect his own mother…
It was then that he looked down. The ground was covered in stones and not just randomly but a path of them almost a foot wide and Ben realised that the Bogle had been designed to be trapped. Let Tom Granger guard his precious cherries if that’s what he wanted but don’t subject the world to his monster – keep it caged up. But it didn’t make sense – the Bogle had been at the orphanage; it was taking blood from the children to replace the cherries they were eating.
Ben walked the line of stones and then he saw exactly what was amiss – there were huge gaps in the circle. He had no idea how long the orchard had been here but it had been feared by Old Harry’s father so it must have been years, and stones get moved by the wind and rain and the Gods knew whatever natural processes. Tom Granger may have once been caged but he had waited and the bars of his cell had rusted right through. No one came to the orchard and no one tended to the guard. Ben, though, could do something and at once he was on his hands and knees moving the stones back into place. They were easy to spot and the lad revelled in finding the flat, dull-grey stones and sealing the Bogle back in his haunt. The ring would be complete again and the beast would be caged. He would warn the children of the Bogle, tell them to avoid the orchard on the hill, tell them the stories of the spirit that haunted the trees and kept the cherries ripe with the blood of thieves until they would never want to return again.
His task was almost complete. The sun was almost touching the sea and the cliff top was clothed in shadow. Ben picked up the last displaced stone and placed it firmly back in the ring. His task done, he took one last glance towards the orchard.
His eyes met the hollow lifeless sockets of a human skull and his scream seemed to propel him back on to the cold dirt of the cliff top.
The Bogle was fear itself, the Grim Reaper personified. The skull, bleached white from its years in the sun, was held intact by vines that curled about it like snakes, tying it tightly to the dark shape of its skeletal body. The ribcage was visible through the matted leaves that filled it like rotting compost, and the delicate tendrils of vines that hold them tight against walls and other plants appeared like visible veins across the bone surface. Muscles and flesh had long ago eroded away and the vegetation had replaced all, allowing joints that no longer held firm to become elongated.
The Bogle reached for Ben with a hand grown entirely from the wood it protected so well, sending the lad whimpering and scampering backwards in a desperate bid to keep the fingers from his face – but it came no further than the stone path. It started to thrash about, the sightless skull peering this way and that down the invisible walls of its newly repaired cage, and it roared. The sound of the sea crashing below seemed to issue directly from its absent throat, the vines parting the lower jaw from the skull as its ‘mouth’ opened impossibly wide. Ben, propelled by fear, stood up and ran as the creature behind him thrashed wildly, still vainly testing the borders of its gaol.
At first Ben didn’t understand what he had failed to do right; he had followed the rules but still the creature had looked set to kill him. But then, as he ran through the failing light back to the lights of the town, he suddenly realised what he had done: by caging the Bogle he had deprived it of everything; he had taken its liberty and Ben knew that no good could come of it.
Return
Ben was back through the doors of the orphanage before the last of the light had left the sky. He could feel his limbs burning with fire and his lungs were fit to burst from his chest. He was gasping hard when his eyes fell upon the form of Mrs Reed standing at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Benjamin Gaul, you have been out all day and now you have missed your supper.’ The stern tone Mrs Reed had adopted failed almost at once for her face softened as she added: ‘Although I’m sure I could find you a plate of something to take to your room with you.’
Ben waved his hand about, struggling to get back his breath in short sharp gasps. ‘Thank you … Mrs… Reed … but I am not … hungry … this evening.’
And with this he half walked, half trotted down the hall towards the classroom and his room above. He knew now that he needed an ally. He had caged the beast and was safe for this evening, but how long would it be before the creature broke through the ring of stones or scaled down the sheer sides of the cliff? The seasons were turning and heavy rains would soon wash the light, grey pebbles away. Nanny Belle would know what to do. He hated to pass the sandwich, so to speak, but he couldn’t do it alone. He opened the door that led up to Nanny Belle’s room, calling her name up the flight of stairs. He hoped that if he added the right sense of urgency to his voice he would be forgiven the intrusion.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, throwing light down the stairwell, and the figure of Nanny Belle walked on to the small landing.
‘So it seems you have returned from your day running about Whitgate and are still in fine voice. Settle yourself in your room. I shall soon come down – we have a visitor I think you will want to meet.’
Ben retreated into the office-cum-bedroom and waited, wondering who on earth could be calling on Nanny Belle whom he would want to meet. When the door finally opened he could barely contain the smile on his face.
‘Rosalie!’ He beamed and his smile was matched by that of his friend, and soon they were embracing as if it had been years since they had last met rather than just that morning.
Nanny Belle walked into the room behind the girl, a smile also playing across her lips. ‘I bumped into a Gypsy caravan on the road this morning and convinced Father Mick that I should be allowed to educate one of his family in a more classical manner. It would, I suggested, keep her out of the way of gamekeepers and the like.’ She smiled again, pleased to see her actions had reunited two close friends and surprised at how quiet the reunion had made Rosalie. ‘Well, it seems as though I’m getting myself quite a little family together; they’ll make a proper nanny of me yet.’ She looked around the room and then over at Ben. ‘You’re going t
o have to go back on the camp bed I’m afraid, young man. This young lady is going to need a more private and comfortable spot, so she gets the curtained-off campaign bed.’
‘I don’t mind having the camp bed,’ Rosalie chipped in. ‘I’ve slept under bushes for nights on end. Being in a comfortable bed with my friends nearby is a huge plus.’
‘Well, that’s as may be, young lady, and I’m not saying your life won’t lead to more nights under bushes, but all the time you are under my care you will be treated as a lady and I know for one that you would be dishonouring the young gentleman who is prepared to give up his bed for you.’ With this, Nanny Belle cast her eyes towards Ben, who looked blank for a second then realised he had been given his cue.
‘I wouldn’t hear of you sleeping anywhere else. Besides, I will be returning to the dorms soon and this will be your room.’ Ben was over the moon his friend would be at the orphanage; at last, he would have an ally of his own age.
It was then that the image of Tom Granger came back into his head. He shivered and took a faltering step back.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Rosalie, concern in her voice. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Nanny Belle placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder and steadied him. ‘You’ve gone quite pale. Are you unwell, Ben?’
Ben gathered his senses. Suddenly he was ashamed. Had he really run back here, desperate for Nanny Belle’s help and comfort? He had chosen his path and it was up to him to follow it, not look around for another mother figure to hold his hand. No, it was time to be a man. He fixed Nanny Belle in his gaze as if nothing had been amiss.
‘I’m fine. I was just suddenly overcome by the run home and the excitement on seeing Rosalie. I haven’t eaten since midday. I think it must be that.’
The young nanny bristled. ‘Well, we can’t have a strapping lad like you going hungry. I shall pop down and get you some dinner. I’m sure Mrs Reed will be happy to oblige.’ And with a sweep she was off.
Ben turned back towards the room. Rosalie was standing arms crossed and head tilted slightly.
‘Hogwash!’ she simply said. ‘You were no more overcome than me, Benjamin Gaul. What’s the real reason? Your face was pale as the grave.’
‘I’ve found what’s been making the children ill!’ Ben said excitedly, rummaging inside his jacket and finally pulling forth the torn pages he had wanted to show Rosalie that morning.
‘You showed me,’ she said confused.
‘No! No, I didn’t. I showed you the Psammead, so you would know that the author was telling the truth.’ He held out the pages to Rosalie and she took them from his shaking hand. ‘It’s the reason they’re getting ill now and will continue to do so unless we stop it.’
Rosalie sat down and smoothed the paper flat. For a few minutes she read in silence.
‘Is it really that dangerous?’ she asked.
‘It’s the same type of creature that killed my mother,’ was Ben’s only reply.
Rosalie locked eyes with her friend as if reading deep into his soul and, as if satisfied with what she saw there, she turned her eyes back to the pages on her lap.
Down in the Garden Orphanage kitchen Nanny Belle stood quietly setting out a tray with a plate of food and a glass of apple juice from a local farm. She didn’t really move; she simply waited. Experience had taught her to read children well and right now she knew the two friends needed some time. Not to catch up – a day had barely passed since they had last met – but she knew from the look on Ben’s face and the scepticism on Rosalie’s that they had something to talk about and she was pretty sure it was a something that would flow better without her standing watching over them.
She had also seen the same look on her brother’s face… maybe not for a long time but in the early days before he had Kent with him and the creatures were all still new – a mixture of fear and excitement. As a little girl she had so wanted to know what her big brother was keeping from them all as he said his goodbyes at the door, already in his uniform, displaying his secrets almost like medals. That, however, had been the old Jack; since his family had gone he kept his secrets secret. You would no longer know whether he was away bagging Jabberwock or going for a stroll around Regents Park.
Trinity Belle, however, had changed as well and no longer needed to wait for her brother to find the monsters; she had found a way to hunt them herself. You didn’t need to go gallivanting around the world to find the creatures that went bump in the night; there were more than enough beasts preying on innocent flesh right here on this ‘jewel in an azure sea’. And she didn’t need the backing of the Crown to gain access to people’s innermost sanctums, she was one of a greater breed now. Nannies had been protecting children since Elizabeth I had sat on the throne of England and they were still doing it today. It didn’t matter if you had the power of the Crown behind you, where children were involved you just showed up and people thought you belonged.
‘Oh Trinity! My apologies, dear friend. I had no idea you were in here.’
It was Mrs Reed who had bustled straight into the kitchen and let out a small shocked squeal on encountering another soul, the kind you let out when you feel you have been caught out in some misdemeanour rather than a scream of fright.
‘I was just making up Ben a plate of food. He was doing an extra shift at the oyster factory and missed dinner,’ said Trinity, picking up the tray.
‘Ah! So I see,’ said Mrs Reed, surveying the plate to make sure that the boy wasn’t being spoilt. ‘I did offer him something when he came crashing in this evening but he convinced me he wasn’t hungry. Boys! Their tongues lie before their brains know they’re talking.’
The owner of the orphanage stopped talking but the silence was almost choking. Nanny Belle’s way of listening unnerved Mrs Reed somewhat, as she felt she always told her far too much information during their little chats. The silence seemed to be asking to be filled with conversation and when you ran out of small talk you started on the big things and a lot of those things were meant to be secret.
‘I’m here for a bit more of tonight’s gammon,’ Mrs Reed caught herself saying and for some reason feeling guilty; it was her house and her gammon, after all. ‘So how’s that Gypsy girl you’ve taken under your wing? Is she settling in?’
‘Rosalie,’ corrected Nanny Belle, making a simple point that it was the person that mattered, not their race.
Mrs Reed felt as if she had been rapped over the knuckles. ‘Rosalie… Yes, how is she settling?’
Nanny Belle smiled softly. ‘It is her first night, but I believe she will settle in well. We shall introduce her to the children when she is ready. No point in rushing her.’
‘No, of course not – when she’s ready,’ repeated Mrs Reed as if hypnotised.
‘Now, I shan’t keep you from that delicious gammon. I must admit I helped myself to another morsel of it while I was down here.’ She raised a finger to her lips. ‘But it’s our secret,’ she whispered.
After Nanny Belle left, Mrs Reed giggled to herself. A lady who was prepared to admit to pilfering extra treats was a strong ally and one that Mrs Reed wanted to keep around.
Rosalie looked up from the pages and Ben realised that her eyes were full of tears. ‘Your poor mother!’ she whispered before crossing to the surprised Ben and hugging him close. ‘We cannot let this creature harm the others any more. We must destroy it before it destroys them. Do we need to guard them as they sleep?’ Her voice was resolute as she broke from the embrace and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘I have sealed it in the orchard for now. It won’t be coming for them tonight at least,’ Ben said with pride.
‘But you will have angered it though. It’s a wild animal, Ben. Imprisoning it won’t stop its fury. It will simply make it grow and tomorrow when whoever is chosen to gather fruit for the others does so it will pounce.’ Rosalie had a better understanding of the natural world than Ben; she had grown up in it and knew how angry the pigs could get just being in the
ir trailer for a day. She shuddered to think how a creature designed for retribution would feel to be caged and kept from its sole purpose.
‘Then we will have to stop it before the others have a chance to go fetch any more cherries,’ said Ben, his path becoming clearer to him by the second.
‘How do we stop the others, though?’ said Rosalie, a touch of concern to her voice
‘Stop the others from doing what?’ It was Nanny Belle holding a tray of cold meat and potatoes by the door. ‘And what others are we talking about?’
‘We wanted to get somewhere tomorrow before the other children,’ said Ben, knowing honesty worked best with Nanny Belle even if you didn’t give her all the details.
‘No one’s going anywhere tomorrow. It’s a school day. All the children – including you, Ben – will be with me,’ she said as she placed the tray on the table.
‘I can go look while you’re in class,’ said Rosalie, still very secure in her independence.
‘It’s too dangerous to go alone! What if something happened to you?’ said Ben. Despite what she had read in the book, it was still just a tale to her and therefore not much more than a game. And dispatching the Psammead had been no more difficult for her than dispatching a rabbit.
‘Well, if it’s dangerous, neither of you are going,’ interjected Nanny Belle.
Two pleading faces turned in her direction.
‘But it might be too late,’ Ben found himself begging.
The room was suddenly silent as the children awaited a response. Nanny Belle hoped that her usual trick would work, that they would tell her more, but the moment passed.
‘Then you will have to go tomorrow – together – while I teach all the other children.’ She smiled as the children’s faces lit up. ‘But if it turns out to be too dangerous, you must come back here and I shall accompany you, after class.’