The Crowstarver (15 page)

‘Don't fret, Kath love,' Tom said. ‘It's nothing much, he'll soon be better.'

‘No, I mean what's to become of him when we're gone?'

‘Dead, you mean?'

‘Yes. How will he ever manage on his own?'

Tom got out of his chair and put his arms
round his wife. ‘Come on now, love,' he said. ‘We're not that old!'

Tom was at home when the doctor next came and again listened carefully to Spider's chest. Then he said, ‘Goodbye, John Joseph,' (at which Spider looked completely blank) and went downstairs.

‘I don't think you've a lot to worry about,' he said to Tom and Kathie. ‘Like I said, it's just a chill.'

‘He's not coughing so much today, doctor,' said Kathie.

‘Good. His temperature's down a bit.'

‘He's never been ill in his life before,' Tom said. ‘Bit short of breath sometimes, but never what you'd call ill.'

‘Is that so?' said the doctor. He had not been long in the district and had not met the Sparrows before, though he had of course at once realized that Spider was mentally subnormal. He was a young man but yet an old-fashioned sort of a doctor, who believed among other things that it was always best to call a spade a spade, and so fought shy of sugaring his pills. He also thought that it was the job of the head of any household to take what knocks might threaten his family. Had he been a ship's doctor, he would expect
every man, in the face of disaster, to cry,‘Women and children first!'

Accordingly now, having said his goodbyes to Kathie along with certain admonishments as to Spider's treatment, he lured Tom to walk out with him by admiring the beauty of the cabbages in his garden.

Then, when they reached his car, the doctor said, ‘I think it best that you should know, Mr Sparrow, that your boy has a slight heart problem. I didn't want to worry your wife with it, but I have to tell you that he has what we call a heart murmur. I could hear it quite plainly through my stethoscope, it's an abnormal rustling sound, quite unmistakable.'

‘Dear God!' said Tom. ‘He's abnormal enough as 'tis, poor lad.'

‘It may be nothing to concern yourself about,' said the doctor, ‘but I thought it right to tell you. If he should show any symptoms of heart trouble in the future, we can have a much more thorough look at him. I shouldn't worry your wife about it.'

‘What was he on about?' asked Kathie when the doctor had driven away.

‘Oh, just chatting,' said Tom.

Thus it was that the shepherd, who had saved
the life of the infant Spider sixteen years earlier, was now the only one to know that that life might possibly be threatened.

Spider did not know of course, nor Kathie, nor Mister and his wife, nor Percy nor any of those who worked on Outoverdown Farm. Only Tom knew and only Tom worried, and even he, as haymaking passed and harvest time came and went, and Spider appeared in every way his usual self, began to be less concerned. Some days he never even thought about it.

It was a wonderful summer for Spider. Early on, at the end of May, he stumbled upon a litter of fox cubs. There was an earth, part hidden by a stunted sentinel thorn bush, in one of the banks of the lynchets, and one day Spider saw from a distance the cubs come out to play.

From then on he would go to see them whenever he could, gradually approaching nearer. Often the vixen scented and saw the silent watcher, but seemed not to mind.

Spider would leave Sis at home on these occasions, telling her (in front of Kathie, so that she too would understand), ‘Spider go see baby voxes.' Then he would walk up to the lynchets and sit and look down at the cubs, their coats still
woolly and grey-brown, their tails small and pointed, playing tag, mock-fighting, scratching their fleas, and occasionally looking, bright-eyed and fearless, up at him.

There were ‘hotters' to watch too. The bitch in the willow-tree holt had given birth to three cubs in the spring, and Spider quite often saw the four of them – the dog otter, as was usual, had gone away elsewhere – in the daytime. Most otters sleep the day away inside their holts, but this family seemed to come out on purpose to greet Spider.

One evening he saw, in the spinney, an animal he'd never before set eyes on. It was a thickset bear-like animal, that walked with a slow rolling shuffle, head and tail low. When it saw Spider, it did not flee but stood and stared at him, and then made a clucking sound of pleasure before passing him unconcernedly by. Spider soon found its picture in his old book, and Kathie told him its name.

‘Budger!' said Spider, smiling, and he clucked at her.

Earlier in the year, a pair of house-martins had built their nest, a half-cup made of mud, under the cottage eaves; it was but a few feet from his bedroom window, and once the eggs were
hatched, he could lean out and look up and watch the parents bringing insects for the four hatchlings, both birds in no way disturbed by his nearness.

All creatures allowed him near – ‘barrits',‘big barrits', partridges, pigeon – any and every animal he met. It was as though all the wild life of Outoverdown Farm wanted to make the summer of 1942 a very special one for Spider Sparrow.

It was not only the wild animals that gave him pleasure of course. There were the cattle and sheep, always glad to have him move among them, and Flower and his other friends in the carthorse stable, and, especially perhaps, the six once-wild broncos.

These were now fit to be sold as riding horses, said Mister, and he had every intention of selling them, he told his wife. But somehow the months passed and still the four pintos, the sorrel and the buckskin continued to enjoy their freedom on the downs, and, when possible, the company of Spider.

So summer prepared to give way to autumn, and Tom had almost completely forgotten the doctor's visit and his words of warning. Then came one peerless day in late September, a Sunday it was, when the sun still shone warmly
from an almost cloudless blue sky, and the breeze was gentle, and the Wylye Valley at its most beautiful. It was a day when, here on the wide Wiltshire downs, it did not seem possible to believe in the War with its daily bulletin of death.

That afternoon Spider made it plain that he was going for a walk.

‘Not too far mind,' said Kath, ‘and you be back in good time for your tea. I got a nice piece of meat for you and your father.'

‘What time, Mum?' asked Spider, turning his wrist to look at the watch they had bought him for his sixteenth birthday present. It was a cheap one, they couldn't afford better, but it kept good time, which Spider had learned to tell, after a fashion. He knew what it meant when the long hand pointed straight up, and Tom had taught him to count round the dial to tell what hour it was.

Now he said,‘I got a sick ewe up in the yard as I want to take a look at later. You meet me there, Spider, and we'll walk home together. You be there, at my hut, five o'clock, all right?' and he held up four fingers and a thumb.

They watched him set off up the road with that distinctive walk, his watch on his wrist, his
whistle round his neck, his knife in his pocket, his dog at heel.

‘He's happy, our boy, isn't he, Tom,' Kathie said. It was a statement, not a question.

‘Long may he be so,' said Tom.

When five o'clock came, Tom was in the shepherd's hut doing some odd jobs while he waited for his son, but time passed without sight of him. Tom went outside the yard and looked around the fields but could not see him coming. He misunderstood, he thought, he'll have made his own way home. But then he heard in the distance the noise of a dog howling. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the spinney. ‘Come, Moss,' said Tom, and he set off across the grass ground that led to both Maggs' Corner and Slimer's.

That's got to be Sis howling, he thought. Why? What's happened? He quickened his steps towards the spinney. Now he could see that its greenness was stippled with black, for in every ash tree there sat crows and rooks and jackdaws, still and silent.

‘Spider!' called Tom, and at the sound of his voice the howling stopped, and the birds rose in a great flock.

Sis was sitting outside Spider's house. She ran to him as he approached and then ran back again. Tom followed, running too now.

‘Spider?' he said again as he reached the overgrown shelter, but there was no answer. Tom bent to look inside.

Spider was sitting on the wooden crate, his back against the hurdle wall, his long arms hanging by his side. His eyes were closed. He looked to be fast asleep.

Tom took hold of Spider's hand. It was cold. He felt for a pulse. There was no pulse. That heart, that murmuring heart, was still. Now the shepherd carried the boy slung across his shoulders, as he would have carried a dead ewe, back over the grass field to the yard, the two dogs following.

High above them, the croaks, silent still, caprioled and curvetted in the sky, an aerial ballet bidding a final farewell to the crowstarver.

Tom opened the door of the shepherd's hut, so close to which he had first set eyes on the foundling, and laid Spider gently on the rough wooden bunk. Moss sat silent, but Sis crept forward, whining softly, and licked at one cold hanging hand.

‘It's all right, girl,' Tom said softly. ‘We'll look
after you.' He stood looking down upon the face of this, his only son. It wore its customary lopsided smile.

‘He's happy,' said Tom to the watching dogs. ‘Thank God, he's happy.'

Dick King-Smith

‘The evening's peace was shattered by the blast of a gunshot. After a heartbeat's pause came the noise of a second shot, followed by a thin agonized screaming…'

From a silent perch in the upper branches of a great tree, a huge and mysterious bird known as the Skymaster watches over Godhanger Wood… watches the innocent blood shed daily by the cruel gamekeeper. And when the birds determine to save themselves, the gamekeeper finds himself locked in a deadly battle of wills with the greatest prize of all at stake – the Skymaster himself. But there can only be one winner…

A powerful and dramatic tale from the best-selling and award-winning author, Dick King-Smith.

‘For his insights into nature and his vivid descriptions of them, Dick King-Smith is an exceptional writer. In the new, more sober voice of GODHANGER, he shows just what a good storyteller and writer he is' Books For Keeps

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Malorie Blackman

All I had to do was go downstairs. Or I could call Dad and tell him that I didn't want to meet Dr Bryce and that would be the end of that. Life would go on as normal. And I'd be dead before my fourteenth birthday…

Cameron is thirteen and desperately in need of a heart transplant when a pioneering doctor approaches his family with a startling proposal. He can give Cameron a new heart – but not from a human donor. From a
pig
.

It's never been done before. It's experimental, risky and
very
controversial. But Cameron is fed up with just sitting on the side of life, always watching and never
doing
. He
has
to try – to become the world's first pig-heart boy…

‘
A powerful story about friendship, loyalty and family around this topical and controversial issue
'
Guardian

‘
Warm, well-packed story… Moving but never maudlin, this is a tale of courage stretched to the limit
'
TES

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Garry Kilworth

Long ago, before Sylver the weasel was born, the humans all left Welkin. Now life for a weasel – under the heavy paw of the vicious stoat rulers – is pretty miserable (unless you happen to be a weasel who likes living in a hovel and toiling all hours for the benefit of the stoats).

It's certainly not enough for Sylver. Or for his small band of outlaws, both jacks and jills. But slingshots and darts can only do so much against heavily-armed stoats and life as an outlaw has a fairly limited future (probably a painful one, too). That's when Sylver comes up with his plan – a heroic plan that could destroy the stoats' reign of power for ever. He will find humans and bring them back to Welkin! And the first step is to follow up a clue from the past – a clue that lies in a place known as Thunder Oak …

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DICK KING-SMITH was a Gloucestershire farmer until the age of 45, when he gave up farming to become a primary school teacher. As a bestselling full-time author, his work received many awards including a Bronze Medal for the Smarties Prize of l997 for
All Because of Jackson
and the Childrens Book Award in l995 for
Harriet's Hare
. In l992, he was also voted Children's Author of the Year. In l995, his top-selling title The Sheep-Pig was developed into a box-office movie, BABE, introducing hundreds of thousands of youngsters to his work. He died in 2011.

Titles available by award-winning author
DICK KING-SMITH

Published by Corgi Pups
Happy Mouseday

Published by Doubleday/Young Corgi

The Adventurous Snail

All Because of Jackson

Billy the Bird

Connie and Rollo

E.S.P.

Funny Frank

The Guard Dog

Horse Pie
Omnibombulator
Titus Rules OK!

Published by Doubleday/Corgi Yearling

A Mouse Called Wolf

Harriet's Hare

Mr Ape

Published by Corgi

The Crowstarver
Godhanger

THE CROWSTARVER
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 9781407099422

Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children's Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company