15

Willoughby

It was what she had dreamed of for so long: meeting another of her own kind. Yet so many emotions boiled in Gafferty’s head – fear, guilt, worry, surprise, curiosity, excitement – they ended up crowding each other out, leaving her numb and suddenly drained.

She stared at the boy, bewildered. He wore a rucksack over a jacket with tails, and buckled to his head was a crash helmet that had large eyes and a beak drawn on it. He was dressed as a bird, perhaps a sparrow, albeit one without any wings. He backed away from her, his eyes on the knife. She quickly put it back in her bag.

‘Of course I’m a Smidgen,’ he said, scowling. ‘What are you doing here? You know this place is out of bounds. And yes, I know that means I shouldn’t be here either, but never mind that …’ Then he looked at her more closely. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you at the Roost. Who are you?’

‘I’m not from the … the Roost,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m Gafferty Sprout. And I came here searching for other Smidgens because, well, because I don’t know any apart from my family. I think I’m from a different clan to you. And I brought my little brother with me and—’

‘An outsider!’ There was a look of panic on the boy’s face. ‘Oh no – I’m really in trouble now!’ He peeked out at the shop floor. There was still plenty of noise, but the children were starting to leave. ‘The coast is clear. I’d better be going.’

‘Wait!’ she said, and all the emotions came flooding back. The image of Gobkin’s frightened face filled her head. Her voice became scratchy, tears stung her eyes. ‘My brother’s been kidnapped by a woman – a witch maybe – and she has horrible monsters helping her, and I don’t know what to do. It would be really good to have someone to talk to right now.’ She sank to the ground and buried her face in her hands, trying not to sob. She’d lost Gobkin when she was meant to be looking after him. How could she ever go home again? How could she explain this to Mum and Dad?

The boy hesitated.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, waving his hands about awkwardly, ‘but I’d be no help – honest. I’m so useless at everything, always getting things wrong, always making mistakes, and always getting shouted at for it. I broke my wings, so I’ll get shouted at for that, and came to the shop – where I’m not supposed to be – to try and pinch one of the toy gliders to replace them, so that’ll be another shouting. And I don’t want to make things worse by talking to an outsider. I don’t know if that’s allowed, you see.’

‘I’ll give you a shouting if you don’t shut up, you woolly worry-worm!’ said Gafferty, with a sniff. This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined her first meeting with another Smidgen. What did this strange boy mean about ‘wings’? She looked up at him. ‘Please, I need help. I can’t face my parents until I get my brother back. Don’t you have family? What would you do?’

The boy studied her, thoughtfully. He had a kind face with large, anxious brown eyes and a mouth that obviously smiled a lot, when he wasn’t in trouble.

‘Maybe my Uncle Abel can help,’ he said finally. ‘Or he’ll know someone who’ll know what to do.’ He offered her his hand. She smiled gratefully and took it, and he pulled her to her feet. ‘My name’s Willoughby Woblyn. Come on, we’d better get moving.’

He led her across the shop, a convoluted path from one hiding place to another.

‘Why are we going this way?’ Gafferty asked, tugging his arm urgently. ‘We should go into the street and follow the witch – we should be chasing them!’

‘There’ll be plenty of eyes watching them,’ Willoughby said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find them, I’m sure. This is the way home.’

They arrived at the skirting board where Gafferty had discovered the symbols. Willoughby pressed the circular mark in the carving. It was a button, just as Gafferty had guessed! There was a quiet click from behind the board and it slid a few centimetres to one side, leaving a gap exactly the right size for a Smidgen to pass through. Behind it, a set of tiny steps led down into the ground.

‘I don’t have a torch,’ Willoughby said sheepishly as they descended. ‘I dropped it and it broke. So be careful.’ The board closed behind them, sinking the stairway into darkness. Gafferty kept a hand on the wall as she followed the boy and scolded herself for letting Gobkin carry all the match-heads in his bag.

‘It’s getting lighter,’ she said after a few steps. ‘I thought you didn’t have a torch.’

He turned mid-step.

‘No. It’s you,’ he said. ‘Look.’

He pointed at the scavenger bag, slung on Gafferty’s shoulder. Sure enough, it was gleaming with a soft, pinkish radiance. Gafferty opened it and peered inside.

‘My knife. My glass knife … it’s shining! Like when that weird thing happened with the monster.’

She carefully drew it out, holding it up so that it lit up the tunnel with its rosy glow. Everything beyond was suddenly visible.

‘Why is it doing that?’ Willoughby asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, absently. She was more interested in what the strange light revealed.

They were standing at the top of a rockface. A huge circular cavern lay below, its high walls covered in animal-shaped carvings. At its centre was a platform, a slab of smooth, dark rock. Surrounding this were many tiers of Smidgen-sized seats. It was like a vast stadium or theatre. Despite the knife only providing a gentle light, somehow it managed to illuminate the entire chamber.

‘This is it!’ Gafferty said. ‘I was right. The Smidgenmoot! Where all the Smidgens come together.’ Her voice echoed across the empty cave. ‘It’s awesome!’

Willoughby frowned.

‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘It’s another forbidden place. A ruin. I think it’s creepy. But it’s the only way to get to the shop from the Roost if you don’t have any wings. My brother showed it to me once. Let’s get to the other side quickly.’

They scrambled down more steps that hugged the cavern wall. Gafferty was disappointed not to see the moot filled with people. It couldn’t have been used for many years. But her disappointment was lessened by the incredible atmosphere of the cave – her own people had created this, something so magnificent! It wasn’t creepy at all. As they reached the platform at the centre of the amphitheatre, encircled by layer upon layer of seating, she imagined the huge audience that might assemble there, imagined them all cheering for her and leaning in to catch every word she said. She felt her heart lift towards the ceiling far above and fill with hope.

‘Gob, I’m coming to get you, I promise,’ she said under her breath. ‘I’ll get you as much strawberry jam as you can eat when this is all over. Just hold on – I’m on my way …’