“You could be right, lad. But it doesn’t help us, does it?”
Sparkler blinked at the old Tollin.
“Of course it does! If we can find out what the dust is, we can show the bearded men! They wouldn’t have to use us if they could get the dust somewhere else, would they?”
The crowd perked up at this news, but Sparkler went on.
“Even if we can’t make it, they could just scrape it off! We’d never have to travel in a rocket again!”
They cheered that idea, but then Briar cleared his throat like a dog enjoying a boiled sweet.
“Have you forgotten the First Law, old son? We do not speak to humans. It leads to trouble and, sometimes, gravity.”
Sparkler nodded slowly.
“I haven’t forgotten, Briar, but this is an emergency. I’ll be the one to break the law. If it means trouble later, it’ll fall on my head alone.”
“The High Tollin won’t approve, you know,” Briar said thoughtfully.
“That, Briar,” Sparkler replied, “is why I am not going to tell him.”
Briar sucked his teeth for a bit and Sparkler went on quickly before the old Tollin could think of anything else.
“There are different kinds of humans,” Sparkler told the crowd. “I’ve seen ones who drive trucks and ones who build walls.”
He had kept his best thought till last and his eyes sparkled, which was, incidentally, how he got his name. No one had yet tried strapping a Tollin to a sparkler, thank goodness.
“They have teachers and doctors, vets and dentists, but I’ve also learned the word for ones who look at things and work them out.”
He stared around at the forty battered Tollins and for the first time in ages, he saw hope in their eyes.
“Scientists! We need to become Tollin scientists.”
Even old Briar gave up some of his dust when Sparkler came around with a scraper and a cup. Finding a way to set the mixture on fire was harder than anyone had expected, but they managed to carry away a box of matches from someone’s kitchen without being spotted. Sparkler set up his own workbench under the hollow oak and the rest of the Tollins waited for results. When he lit the first batch of dust and blew his eyebrows off, they heard his cheer all the way across Chorleywood. He was pleased it had worked. He was also surprised, but without his eyebrows, no one could tell.
After that, Sparkler had plenty of volunteers to help him. Anyone who wasn’t in a jam jar or a rocket spent their spare time digging. They brought just about anything to Sparkler, from brown-colored rock to red-colored rock and even a bit of reddish-brown-colored rock. He tried to light each piece, but nothing worked. After that, they raided the house where they had found the matches, coming away with baking powder, bath salts, salami slices, vinegar and a host of other things.
Each night, the Tollins would donate a scraping of dust to his experiments and if anyone noticed the fireworks no longer had quite the whizz and zip of earlier months, no one said anything. The High Tollin was still discussing the problem with his council under the station. Enormous plates of sandwiches were sent in to help them come up with a solution.
In the depths of winter, Sparkler looked at a pile of grubby crystals. According to the packet of salami, it was something called “sodium nitrate.” It had been very hard to get it out of the meat. He’d boiled the salami and cooled it, shredded and dissolved it—and he didn’t know if it was any good, even then. Tollin dust was gold and this was grey, but he still leaned away as he lit his match, having learned once how slowly eyebrows grow back.
The whoosh of yellow flame lasted for just an instant and left bright flashes in front of his eyes as he staggered out of the old oak. He had yellow! If he managed blue and red as well, he would have saved them all.
CHAPTER FOUR
TALKING TO BEARDS
T WAS A TENSE MOMENT in the fireworks factory. Just getting the bearded men to notice him and listen had taken a month. Sparkler had been launched over the southern counties three more times before he finally caught their attention in the most drastic way possible. As they’d stuffed him into a rocket, he’d lit a match and hung on. Even then, he’d almost blown himself out of the tube in a flare of beautiful blue. That brought them running, as you might expect. Bearded men love fireworks, but they don’t like them going off on the workbench, not at all.
Sparkler had to slow his voice down to speak to them, until it felt like he was singing the deepest notes he could manage. He had seen a great ear coming close and discovered that bearded men grow a surprising amount of hair in those as well. Yet they listened and somehow, they understood what he was trying to say.
The foreman of the factory was there of course, dressed in a black suit and a waistcoat with a gold chain hanging from it. The factory was being painted and it wasn’t even open, but all the bearded men had come to watch Sparkler demonstrate his fireworks powders. To a man, they all wore blue glasses and squinted at the Tollins gathered on the workbench.
It was a small group of Tollins. Only a few had dared to watch Sparkler break the First Law and actually speak to a human. Most of the others were in the tunnels under the station, with lots of witnesses to show they had never been anywhere near the fireworks factory.
Roman and Briar had refused to stay away. They moved the paint tins back to give Sparkler room as he dragged the matchbox forward.
Nervously, Sparkler said “sodium nitrate” as slowly and deeply as he could. It was a word from a human book and the men nodded and raised their eyebrows at each other. After that, Sparkler said “copper chloride” and finally, “strontium carbonate,” which took ages to say at that speed. As he finished each one, he touched a lit match to a pile and was rewarded by a series of oohs and aahs from the bearded men. One of them said whee as well, but he was shushed by the rest. The shadowy factory was lit in yellow, blue and a lovely red before Sparkler finally slumped back onto the matchbox and waited. He had worked through the night to prepare the display and he was exhausted.
The foreman strode over to him and peered down through thick, blue glasses.
“All right, lad,” he said. “Show me how you did it and we’ll do it your way.”
The Tollins cheered. One of them danced on the workbench. Roman even climbed onto one of the paint cans and danced on that. As Sparkler raised his hands in triumph, he saw the lid spin round and Roman disappeared into the can. Those who saw cried out in fear. Some of them turned to the bearded men, thinking this was perhaps a new trap, but those days were over.
The foreman himself lifted Roman out of the paint can and put him on the bench where he stood in a puddle of the stuff. The Tollins began cheering again, but Sparkler saw a look of astonishment cross the foreman’s face.
The painted walls of the fireworks factory were white. The paint in the cans was white. The only bit that wasn’t white was the puddle around Roman. That was the most marvelous shade of purple anyone had ever seen.
“Look at the color of that paint!” said one of the bearded men, excitedly.
“Oh no,” said Sparkler. “Not again.”
THE END OF
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER ONE
HOW AMPUTATION CAN BE A BLESSING
PARKLER STAMPED HIS FEET to get rid of the snow. His wings had frozen again. As he blew his nose on a fairy handkerchief, he was cold and miserable. You would probably prefer to believe that a fairy handkerchief was a piece of silky cloth made by the fairies. That is definitely one possibility. The fairies had even offered to make such an item from spiderweb, but Sparkler preferred the old-fashioned kind. He stuffed the snotty fairy back in his coat pocket and knocked on the door of Grunion’s tiny house, in a hill by Darvell’s Pond.
The wind howled around him as he waited. It was still autumn, but Chorleywood Common was covered in whiteness. The owls and foxes were out as the sun set and Sparkler looked around nervously as the door opened and young Grunion beckoned him inside.
Sparkler waited while Grunion bolted
the little door, then he followed the healer down a long passage into the hill, the tap-thump of Grunion’s false foot echoing behind him. The air grew warmer with every step and with relief, Sparkler felt his wings begin to thaw. It was not long before he was seated in Grunion’s workshop, looking in fascination at all the odd things in jars. Some of them looked back. The fire crackled and he draped his fairy handkerchief over the mantelpiece to dry out. He heard it sneeze in the silence.
“Is it finished then?” Grunion asked. His father had been famous as a healer, though mostly it was fame in the sense that everyone knew it was a bad idea to go to him if you were sick. Grunion senior had died at the end of summer, taken by an owl.
“I have finished the copying,” Sparkler replied, patting a bag at his waist. “I have here the very first book of proper medicine ever created.”
“Human medicine,” Grunion said reluctantly, holding out his hand for it.
“They know more than we do,” Sparkler replied with a shrug, pulling out the book. He handed it to Grunion and held his breath as the Tollin flicked through the pages.
“Did you do the drawings as well?” Grunion asked. He held out a picture of a very odd-looking daffodil. Sparkler blushed.
“I did my best. It can’t all apply to Tollins, but some of these plants could be used to reduce fevers and dull pain. It has to be better than amputation.”
It was a sensitive subject. Grunion’s father had cured his son’s athlete’s foot by removing the foot. Grunion senior had also recommended it as a cure for ingrown toenails, tennis elbow and dandruff.
“Amputation works, though,” Grunion said warily. He lifted his false foot as he spoke, so that Sparkler could see the finely carved little toes. “Saves in shoes, too.”
“I’m sure your father was…a great Tollin, but there is more to medicine than just removing the bit that hurts. This book says so, anyway.”
“I’ll look at it, but I’m not promising anything. My father always said that sudden death teaches people a very valuable lesson.”
Sparkler said nothing. He still remembered the costume party at the end of summer. Grunion senior had gone as a mouse.
Presumably the owl had worked out its mistake eventually, but it was too late by then. Come to think of it, there probably was a lesson in there somewhere.
In the distance, a dull thumping broke the peaceful silence.
“Expecting someone?” Sparkler asked.
Grunion looked up from the book of herbs and shook his head.
Both Tollins walked back to the door in the tiny hill. Made of snail-shell, it was slightly translucent, but Grunion could only see two dark shapes standing outside.
He pulled back the bolt and let in a breath of frozen air.
Two large Tollins stood there, stamping their feet.
Sparkler blinked as they grinned at him, showing too many teeth. They carried spears and wore blue tunics only slightly stained with gravy.
“Thought we’d find you here,” said the first.
“May I help you?” Sparkler said, bewildered.
“Ho yes, you may help us,” said the second one. He was larger and if anything, slightly more menacing. The first one snickered, which was not a pleasant sound. He did not, in fact, look like a pleasant Tollin.
“You may help us by accompanying us back to the High Tollin so he can shout at you and throw you in a cell.”
“I’m sorry?” said Sparkler in amazement.
“You can apologize later, my lad. Right now, you are coming with us.”
“No, I meant it as an expression of surprise, like ‘Well I never,’” Sparkler said. “Are you sure you have the right Tollin?”
“You are the Tollin who spoke to humans? Who conversed with them?”
“Yes, but I don’t think…”
Whatever Sparkler had been going to say was lost as the two guards leapt at him, dragging a rough sack over his head. In just moments, he was tied like a package.
“Is it necessary to be so rough?” Grunion said in horror.
The two guards looked at each other.
“Well no,” the large one replied, “but it’s part of the job, you see. Even the manual is called ‘A Rough Guide to Guarding’ so it’s sort of rule number one.”
“Will there be a trial, then?” Grunion asked. It had happened so quickly, he was still trying to catch up.
“Ho yes, a trial, very important. We tell everyone what he did and then the High Tollin decides to execute him. It’s all very proper and legal, don’t you worry about that.”
“Do something, Grunion!” said the package. The guards cracked their knuckles in anticipation and Grunion decided that standing with his mouth open was as much as he was prepared to try at that time.
As Sparkler was dragged away, Grunion found his courage and called after him.
“You must keep your hopes alive, my friend. Though they throw you in the deepest dungeon with only beetles for company, there will surely…”
He realized Sparkler was too far away to hear through a sack.
“Blast,” said Grunion, and shut the door to think.
CHAPTER TWO
THE HIGH TOLLIN MAKES THINGS QUITE CLEAR
EEP UNDER CHORLEYWOOD STATION, the Hall of the High Tollin was warm and busy. Sparkler was jostled through the tunnels before finally being thrown down onto a cold floor. The sack was whipped off him and he blinked at the sudden light. It was not a large hall, as halls go. Moles would have found it a bit low-ceilinged for a center of government. Most Tollins only ever went there to be named, married and marked dead, or at least “absent, probably foxed or owled.” Winter was hard on Tollins.
Sparkler rose slowly to his feet.
“I think there has been some sort of misunderstanding…” he began.
“Silence in the presence of the High Tollin!” one of the guards roared in his ear. Page two of the manual: “The Importance of Volume,” presumably. Sparkler had read it. He read everything. He vaguely recalled some worrying sections on “Community Guarding—the Importance of a Good Kicking.”
Sparkler remained silent, staring up at the little crowd of Tollins on the raised area at the end of the Hall. They surrounded the oldest Tollin he had ever seen. When Sparkler had been named, old Gristle had been in the chair, so this was a new High Tollin. He had a face like a walnut with a beard and enormous eyebrows. From somewhere in the bushy hair, the High Tollin glared out at him.
“So this is the one who broke our laws, is it?” he demanded. As Sparkler watched, the wrinkled old Tollin grew purple with rage. He looked as if he wanted to rise from his seat, but one of his feet was swollen and wrapped in bandages. Grunion senior would have had it right off, Sparkler thought. He stared at the foot with great interest.
“Answer the High Tollin!” the guard roared again. Page 6: “Communicating with the Public.”
“I did speak to the owner of the fireworks factory, yes,” Sparkler began.
“Condemned from his own marf, sah!” the second guard snapped, saluting. “Shall I execute him now?”
“Marf?” the High Tollin said.
“Clear as day, sah!” the guard went on proudly. The High Tollin summoned his advisors and muttered for a few moments.
“Right, I see. Well why didn’t he just say that?” he whispered. Sparkler watched in horror as the High Tollin cleared his throat. “Then in view of the confession, it is only for me to pronounce the sentence. Then lunch.”
“I had to talk to them!” Sparkler blurted out. “We were being used in fireworks! As slaves! What choice did I have?” To his surprise, there was a murmur of agreement from the galleries and he looked up to see many Tollins watching the scene.
“As sla-aves!” Sparkler said louder, for those at the back.
The High Tollin frowned at this attempt to appeal to the crowd. When he spoke again, his voice was low and poisonous.
“Tollins have rules, you know,” he said. “Some things are obviously forbidden to us, li
ke murder or Wednesdays. We are not creatures of chaos, after all. Yet above all that is the First Law. We do not speak to humans. The law is not to be bent, young Tollin. It does not matter if you ‘really needed’ to speak to one, or that you ‘just had to have a quick word.’ The law is clear, the law is truth.”
“But you can’t possibly…” Sparkler interrupted.
“Take him to the cells,” the High Tollin said. “You will…nyaaargh!”
Everyone froze at the sudden yell of agony from the High Tollin. “Sah?” the guard said, uncertainly. Sparkler stared as the High Tollin turned to his closest advisor.
“Would you mind awfully removing your hand from my leg? You seem to be resting on it.” The advisor jumped back as if he had touched a hot stove.
“Thank you so much,” the High Tollin murmured with icy politeness. “It’s the gout, you see, otherwise I wouldn’t have dreamed of mentioning it.”
The ancient Tollin gathered his thoughts once more.
“Humans are dangerous!” he snapped. “We survive only because they do not know we exist. Then what happens, after centuries of peace? They wear blue glasses and find us in every garden! The humiliation of it! We could have hidden ourselves in the winter tunnels, but what did you do? You spoke to them! You showed them how to make better fireworks!”