Harklights

by Tim Tilley

  But then my smile falls away in horror.

  The water is deeper than I thought.

  Much deeper.

  The tail end of the Monster disappears into the dark water. Thick clouds of steam rush up.

  The three Hobs appear from their hiding places and join me at the rim of the lake. We watch in silence as wobbling bubbles break the surface…then they’re gone. And the only trace of the Monster is the great hole in the leaf-cover.

  A long minute drags out. “He’s not coming up,” I say.

  “Who?” says Nissa.

  “Padlock – one of the other orphans. He’s inside the Monster.” I jump off Half Crown. “He’s going to drown unless one of us does something. I’m going in.”

  Papa Herne is wide-eyed. “Can you swim?”

  I don’t know, but I have a feeling I can do this. Maybe I’m still charged with the excitement of beating the Monster. I shrug off my cloak, pull off my sweater and jump into the water. It’s numbingly cold, but no worse than the water we had to wash in at Harklights. I take several deep breaths and put my head underwater. I can hardly see anything as I dive down into the murky depths. Grey Lake is a twilight world, the hole in the leaf-cover its moon.

  A memory flickers inside me.

  An old-new memory.

  I can swim.

  I’ve been underwater before, but it was brighter… Diving down to a riverbed where stones are netted with a wavering light. My fingers close round a shining gold circle, a bracelet that someone lost. I’m full of happiness that I found it. I have the vague feeling that the person who lost the bracelet was someone important to me, but I don’t remember who.

  As I swim deeper and deeper, the memory fades.

  Walls of cold water press in on all sides and there’s a tightness in my chest. Beneath me, the Timber Goliath balances on a rock ledge over an underwater abyss.

  I kick my legs, propelling myself close to the driver’s cabin. Behind the windscreen, Padlock floats in the water over the controls. He’s unconscious. I tug the cabin door open and grab Padlock by his collar. Then I drag him through the door.

  I kick away as fast as I can.

  My lungs ache as I swim upwards. They feel like they’re on fire.

  When we break the surface, Papa Herne, Nox and Nissa are calling, but I don’t hear their words. All I can do is breathe. There’s a nasty gash and a bruised imprint of the control levers on Padlock’s forehead.

  “He’s hurt,” I say to the Hobs.

  I drag him from the water out onto the small beach. Wet leaves stick to us. I thump him between the shoulder blades. He splutters and coughs up water. Breathing again, he collapses onto his back. Then his eyes open, but he says nothing.

  “What are we gonna do with him?” says Nissa.

  “He’s got a head injury,” says Papa Herne. “He should stay here. We’ll get something to treat it. Wick, you stay with him.”

  “Quick, let’s go,” says Papa Herne to the others. “I need help gathering St John’s wort, dried petals and leaves.”

  The trio of bird-riders fly away.

  I glance at Padlock, dressed in blue overalls and boots.

  Grey Lake is silent. There are no birds in the sky. No deer. It’s just me and him. Two orphans from Harklights.

  I wait for the flicker of more memories, like the one that bubbled up when I started swimming, but it seems that’s all there is right now. All these years I’d thought I’d always been at Harklights, but I was wrong. There was a time before. Another life. I want to dive back down into the depths to see if I can remember anything else.

  “You,” growls Padlock. “What the blazes were you riding?”

  I glance over to where Half Crown stands, waiting.

  Padlock sits up and clutches his chest, his face twisted as if he’s in pain.

  “You alright?” I say.

  “It’s me ticker. I need me pills. Ever since the shotgun kicked me in the chest—”

  “What happened? How’s Petal?” I cut in.

  “About as happy as the rest of ’em. Miss Boggett didn’t just punish your friend, she punished all the packsmiths.”

  A wave of guilt floods through me.

  “She makes ’em work faster, longer hours.” There’s satisfaction in Padlock’s voice. “And ’cos of that, she needed to cut down trees quicker. She’s already taken down Sixways Wood and most of Waywood Forest. Now she’s cutting down Havenwood—”

  “How many tree-cutters are there?”

  “There’s three – were three…”

  For a moment, I feel as if I’m falling. That’s two left. Two too many.

  “Miss Boggett said I needed to learn to shoot. Stags were attacking the Timber Goliaths. I tried her shotgun but then this happened…” He winces and clutches his chest as if his heart is trying to escape. “I got a pistol instead and—”

  “You shot the stag!” I cut in. There are sharp edges to my words. I fish out the bullet casing from my pocket and thrust it at him. “This is yours then.”

  Padlock takes it from me with his thick fingers. “Where d’you get it?”

  “It doesn’t belong in the forest. There’ll be no shooting. Not now. Not anytime.”

  “The forest belongs to Miss Boggett. It’s matchwood, all of it.” Padlock flinches as he touches the bruise on his head, then coughs. “I need my pills. I’m not going to make it.”

  Part of me thinks he’s faking it. “Don’t worry. The others have gone to get you something.” Questions press in on all sides, about Old Ma Bogey, about the tree-felling, the shot stag. I feel like I’m underwater again. Suspended. Disorientated. “You’ll be okay,” I say, trying to reassure him.

  Padlock coughs and clutches his chest tighter. “Tell the undertaker to put that on me gravestone. You’ll have to get me pillbox from the lake. It’s in me jacket.”

  “Your jacket is gone,” I say firmly.

  Padlock coughs again – a long dry cough that folds him in half. This time it sounds terrible. Now I’m worried.

  When he stops, a vein stands out in his neck and his face is even more twisted in pain.

  I think I might be wrong about him faking it.

  I wonder how long the Hobs are going to be. St John’s wort might take a headache away, but Padlock needs more than that.

  “Hawthorn leaves are good for your heart. Wait here, I’ll be back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

  Half Crown and I race off into the forest. It doesn’t take long for us to find a hawthorn. The tree – short, stocky, growing at an angle – is easy to find. As I pick fresh green leaves, I realize I forgot to ask Padlock about Bottletop at Harklights. I hope he’s alright too.

  When we return to the lake, Padlock is gone. All that’s left is the wet shape of him, a dark stain spreading into the stones.

  Waiting for Papa Herne to return is like the anxious wait for Quota Inspection. Will he be angry when he finds out Padlock has escaped? Will he think I let him go because he was another human? Because I knew him? I’d searched about for footprints but there weren’t any. He’d left no tracks. I don’t even know how he disappeared so fast.

  Thankfully I don’t have to wait long. But this time, there’s only one bird-rider.

  It’s Nox.

  Great. He’s the last Hob I want to tell that I let Padlock get away.

  “Where’s Papa Herne?” I ask after Nox’s blackbird lands on the wet rocks next to me. The blackbird drops a small package wrapped in fabric.

  “He’s telling the others the truth about the Monster, and how you defeated it. I got honey for the bruising. Where’s the human gone?”

  I swallow. “He got away.”

  “Where did he go?” says Nox.

  “I don’t know. He said he had a bad heart. I went and got some hawthorn. He tricked me.”

  I wait for Nox to get angry, but his voice has a different tone than I’m used to. It’s more gentle, earthy, like Papa Herne’s. “It’s n
ot yer fault,” he says. “Man tricks. It’s in his nature. I once got tricked by a human. It were many moons ago – stepped in a butterfly net. If it hadn’t been for Papa Herne, I wouldn’t have escaped.”

  My mind whirrs with thoughts. All of them take me to Harklights.

  “What’s wrong? You defeated the Monster an’ stopped Nissa getting hurt.”

  “I might have stopped the Monster, but there’s more.”

  “More?”

  I nod. “Padlock told me there’s another two. And if he gets back and tells Old Ma Bogey he’s seen me riding a tree-stag, she’s going to try and find us. Knowing Old Ma Bogey, she’ll send more machines to destroy the forest. I thought trapping the Monster would solve everything, but now I’ve made things worse. I failed the first rule of Forest Law.” I bow my head and turn away. “I’m not good enough to be a Forest Keeper.”

  “What are you talking about?” cries Nox, startling his blackbird. “Without you, that machine in the lake would still be out there, tearing down trees, killing animals!” He smooths down the bird’s ruffled feathers. “Yer brave an’ have a good heart. My sons would have been lucky to know you.”

  “Really?” I feel a pull on my heart.

  “Yeah.” Nox sniffs.

  “I need to go back to Harklights,” I say. “I’ve got to stop her.”

  “Well, yer not going on yer own. Yer one of us. If you go, then I’m coming with you an’ I’ll bet the sun an’ moon that Papa Herne will too.” Nox picks up his reins. “I take it yer thought of a plan.”

  “Not yet,” I say, “but it’ll take more than leaves this time.”

  “Well done, Wick!”

  “Defeated the Monster!”

  “I always knew you’d be great!” cries the crowd of Hobs when Nox and I enter the clearing. This is followed by cheering and clapping. I didn’t think the Hobs could make so much noise.

  As I climb down from Half Crown, Mama Herne asks, “What happened to Purlock?”

  “Padlock. I – I lost him.” I explain what happened.

  The crowd erupts into raised voices.

  Papa Herne tries shouting, but no one can hear him until Mama Herne bangs pots together.

  Clonk. Clonk. Clonk.

  Oakhome falls silent.

  “Everyone, stay where you are,” says Papa Herne with strength in his voice. “We’ll stop this once an’ for all. We’re gonna face this together.”

  I feel the crowd look at me expectantly, as if I’ve got all the answers.

  “When are we going?” demands Nissa. She stands taller and there’s a fierce blaze in her eyes. I guess her fight is back. She juts her chin and tightens her fists. “I might be small, but small things can make a difference.” She sounds like Papa Herne, except her tone is more defiant.

  I think of all the small things the Hobs have done for me, how much they have added up. Kindness, gentleness, encouragement, love. Showing me what a family can be. They’re helping me get better, be braver, stronger.

  Papa Herne’s eyes shine with pride at Nissa’s words.

  Mama Herne crosses her arms. “Oh no. You can’t go.”

  “She has to,” says Papa Herne evenly. “You should have seen her. She can fly a blackbird better than most.”

  I clear my throat. “I know she’s not a Forest Keeper yet, but she wants to do something to protect the forest.”

  A smile spreads across Nissa’s face.

  “We can’t lose the forest,” says Papa Herne, pulling Mama Herne close as he looks up at me. “If I’d told everyone about the Monster before, we might have been able to work together to stop it. Wick needs all the help he can get now.”

  Mama Herne nods gravely. “You best be careful,” she tells Nissa.

  Papa Herne adjusts his hat. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “I will too,” I add.

  Papa Herne calls down to Genna. “I’ll need you to prepare to evacuate Oakhome if the other monsters come. If they do, fly south to Bilberry Hill. You’ll be safe in the caves there. The monsters won’t be able to get in.”

  Genna nods. She looks pale and she gazes off into the distance. It’s as if she can only see the past, taken back to a place she never wanted to return to.

  “What about all our things?” says Finn.

  “I’ll leave a tree-stag,” replies Papa Herne. “Load it up – but only with essentials, mind. Lives are more important than things.”

  “So, this is the plan,” I say, tapping the crude diagram I’ve made on a cleared patch of forest floor. Lines of twigs mark out everything in Harklights: the yard, the crane, all the rooms, the Bottomless Well. I pick up an acorn and move it. “I’ll jump over the yard wall on the back of Half Crown and sneak in through one of the Machine Room windows. Old Ma Bogey keeps some of them open in the day.”

  “An’ what will we do?” says Nissa, adjusting her catapult.

  “You’ll be the distraction,” I reply. I tap on an old oak leaf. “Once I’m inside, I’ll find a way to smash the Machine. I’ll use her beating stick if I have to. It’s the only way to save the forest. A small destruction to stop a bigger destruction. She won’t be able to make any more matches and so there’ll be no need to cut down any more trees.”

  “Wick’s right,” says Nox and folds his arms.

  Papa Herne glances at us both. “I don’t like it, but if Wick says it’s the only way…”

  The words hang in the air.

  Nissa clears her throat. “Wick – you said before that she likes to take things away from people. Isn’t she still gonna come after us with the other monsters? Even if we stop her Machine?”

  I sigh. “Let’s hope not.”

  I change out of my damp sweater and shirt. I put on one of the shirts from the treehouse and fold back the sleeves. Then I put on my cloak.

  It takes less than five minutes for us all to get ready. Papa Herne, Nissa and Nox climb onto their bird saddles and take up their reins.

  “Okay, let’s go.” A swirl of fear and hope churns inside me as I climb onto Half Crown’s back. Fear at seeing Old Ma Bogey again, hope of rescuing Petal and the others.

  There’s a snap of black-and-brown wings, then the bird-riders are in the air, flying through the trees.

  This is my plan. Everything hinges on this. If it all goes wrong, then it’s my fault. It’s not only Nissa that could get caught this time, but Papa Herne and Nox too. I push the thoughts away.

  I know I can do this. It’s what all my time in the forest has been leading to. It’s time to stop Old Ma Bogey.

  I gallop along Rabbit Path, the same path we took from Harklights, thinking about how much I’ve changed. I know what it is to be loved by a family. And I carry the forest within me – the courage of deer, the determination of squirrel, the calm stealth of fox.

  “Wick, look!” cries Papa Herne as we stop at the forest edge.

  He points to the meadow. It’s a blaze of wild colour – lesser celandine, wild daffodil, sweet violet, purple heather. Beyond is Harklights. It’s grown. The yard wall to keep the orphans in is higher now. It must be another ten feet tall or more. And rising above it is the crane with the crow-claw.

  “Blast it,” I mutter. My heart drops. “Half Crown will never be able to jump over that.”

  Old Ma Bogey must have built it higher after I’d left. I guess she didn’t want any more orphans leaping over the wall on the backs of magical tree-stags. And if the wall has changed, what else has?

  Papa Herne and the others watch me.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” I say. “I can climb it.” I straighten my back and feel warmth stir in my chest.

  We cross the meadow. As we approach, the wall looms like a grey-black cliff. As I bring Half Crown to a halt, I notice Scratch sitting in the shadow of the wall. He scampers off as I jump down, then stops ten feet away. He watches with interest as Papa Herne, Nissa and Nox land their birds on the tree-stag’s antlers.

  “Watch out for Scratch,” I say to the Hobs.


  The Hobs watch the enormous cat warily as he crouches low to the ground, pretending he’s not been seen. His tail swishes slowly from side to side.

  I peer up at the wall, remembering the trees I have conquered. “I’m ready for this.”

  My heart flutters. I’ll need to go carefully. This time, there isn’t any ivy.

  If I slip…

  I cut off the thought before it can take hold.

  “Shall we fly up?” asks Nox.

  “Wait till I get to the top. Wait for my signal.” I clear my throat. “Then you make the distraction if you see Old Ma Bogey. But be careful, she’s got a shotgun.”

  Papa Herne nods. “Understood.”

  I breathe out deeply. “Okay. Good luck to us all.”

  I say goodbye to Half Crown, then start to make my way up the wall, still trying not to think about there being no ivy. Instead I think of myself as ivy, clinging on.

  The spaces between the bricks make perfect hand- and footholds. About halfway up, my old fear grips me, rooting me to the spot, but I wrench myself free. I won’t let it hold me back.

  When I reach the top, I peer over and down into the yard. A rush of Harklights memories comes flooding back: bowls of porridge, Old Ma Bogey’s beating stick, her iron thumb pinching my ear. For a moment, I feel a sort of hollowness in the pit of my stomach. Like the opposite of homesickness.

  Everything is mostly as it was before. The Bottomless Well sits in one corner. The crane claw stands nearby. The yard is even emptier without the gnarled old tree. But Harklights is quiet, which is strange as it’s not a Sunday. The Machine isn’t running. The chimney isn’t belching yellow smoke.

  I swing a leg over the wall and signal to Papa Herne. My heart thuds in my chest as I try to find a foothold on the other side.

  The porch door opens and the orphans file out mechanically, without feeling.

  My heart rises as I see them, but it twists with guilt knowing they’ve been punished. They look so tired.

  Old Ma Bogey appears behind them. Her hair is still scraped into a bun, but she’s wearing a new fitted coat and long skirt, both emerald green.