Chapter 45
Puck's Dell, Stumblefrith Forest, Wealdshire. Friday 29 May 1998
All the pixies stared in silence at the tightening cordon of yellow-coated policemen. If this was intimidation, it seemed to be working. The forty or so pixies looked petrified as they stared at the awesome ring of expressionless faces. The police stopped. They linked arms. There was no way in and no way out. The silence intensified the doom-laden atmosphere. Nothing moved. Even the wind seemed to have died. Not a single bird could be heard in the forest. It was as if Stumblefrith and all its inhabitants knew what was happening — knew that the destruction was about to start.
Gerard, in his tree house, thought the scene reminded him of a mighty medieval battle scene in a movie. He pictured an army slowly marching towards a stone castle and then suddenly stopping and holding up their shields to form a ring of steel around it. He saw himself as a warrior standing on the fortified castle wall, gazing out in horror at the besieging soldiers, and willing himself to be brave. He could imagine a camera slowly panning round the circle taking close-up shots of the emotionless faces of the invaders.
Gerard wanted to look in the other direction, but was frightened to move. In this frozen scene, the slightest movement would attract everyone's attention. He started to move his head as slowly as he could. Then, when he saw something happening at the periphery of his vision, he jerked his head round quickly. At the northern edge of the camp, the policemen forming the yellow barricade were moving aside to create an opening. A man wearing a yellow jacket and white safety helmet began to walk forward. As soon as he was inside the cordon, the gap in the yellow wall sealed itself. This must be the Sheriff, thought Gerard.
The man was holding a loud hailer in his hand.
He raised it to his lips.
But didn't start to speak because someone else had taken centre stage.
Misty had been sitting cross-legged in the centre of the camp. Now, she was slowly rising to her feet. Gerard felt his scalp begin to tingle. He looked at the Sheriff. And saw he was lowering his loud hailer. Gerard looked back at Misty. Her arms were now stretched skywards. This is like a stage drama, thought Gerard. It's almost as if the whole thing has been choreographed. Everyone knows their part. I wish I did.
There was an air of expectancy. Gerard knew that something was going to happen. He expected glaring multi-coloured spotlights to suddenly shine out from the trees and light up the girl who appeared to have everyone in her spell. No lights appeared, but the sun was suddenly obscured by a cloud and an unnatural darkness descended. Did she do that? Gerard wondered, shivering. At this very moment he would have believed that she was capable of anything.
A beautiful voice began to sing.
Crystal-clear tones.
A haunting tune.
Although Misty's voice was soft, her song seemed to pervade the whole forest.
Imagine a world
Imagine a world
(Another voice joined in.)
Imagine a world where the trees are all gone
Where the air is so poisonous that nothing can live
(More voices. Sombre. Mournful.)
Imagine a dead world
Imagine our world
With no foxes, no badgers, no birds and no bees.
(A drumbeat started up.)
Then
No babies
(Louder.)
No children
(Louder.)
No people
(Louder.)
No need to imagine.
(No drum. Misty on her own.)
Just wait.
A moment later, the sun came out from behind the cloud.
Gerard felt his eyes brimming with tears. He tried to blink them away but they trickled down his face. He didn't care. He wanted every single policeman to see his tears. He was proud of the fact that he was crying. Are you crying as well? he wanted to shout at them, and thought that more than a few probably did have moist eyes. He wanted to clap. He wanted to call out Misty's name. He wanted to scream his approval of what she had done. But he did none of those things. Misty's song had not been a performance for which applause would have been appropriate. It had been a song of ritual. A song of magic. Gerard just knew that although the words were recent — the song itself, and its purpose, went back to a time when people understood the earth, cared for it, worshipped it.
Gerard saw the Sheriff begin to raise his loud hailer again, but so slowly this time that it was as if he was having to fight a power older than time itself. Gerard wondered if the Sheriff would say, 'How can anyone follow that?' He wondered if he would say anything for the loud hailer was making exceedingly slow progress in its upward journey.
Gerard turned his attention to the pixies. Misty's magic had worked. She had transformed a bunch of terrified young people into a fiercely-defiant band of warriors — eco-warriors. And the rugged, merciless invaders now looked no more threatening than bobbies on the beat helping old ladies to cross the road.
The Sheriff finally managed it. With loud hailer in place, he cleared his throat and looked down at his prepared statement.
The eco-warriors gave no quarter. As soon as his mouth opened — their ritualistic song began again — this time with everyone singing every line. Gerard just knew that if the pixies sang the song enough times, it would be permanently etched in the policemen's memories. They would be in the middle of shaving when 'Imagine a dead world' would echo through their heads. They would be watching out for speeding motorists and 'No babies, no children, no people' would repeat endlessly inside their heads. Their dreams would be haunted by a dark girl slowly rising from the forest floor and commanding them to, 'Imagine a world where the trees are all gone.'
When Alan Jenkins, the Sheriff of Wealdshire, had walked through the cordon of police, he felt that he had been here before. He knew what he would do, and he knew what others would do during the course of the next few hours (but not days, he hoped). He had watched videos of other evictions. He had seen the sheriffs of other counties raise their loud hailers and deliver a formal warning to the illegal occupants of camps on the routes of other new roads. Once the announcement had been made, the police, bailiffs and security teams would move in to clear the site. But this wasn't quite like the other evictions he had viewed. In fact, he was certain that it was going to be very different. He had expected his formal warning to be met with — if not drowned out by — catcalls, boos and jeers. But he hadn't expected to be wrong-footed by a single girl. He hadn't expected to be hypnotised, mesmerized, captivated, beguiled, enchanted and held spellbound by a slip of a girl singing a ridiculous song. He hadn't expected to be bewitched.
Alan Jenkins liked to think that he was a shining example of level-headedness. He had no time for those who believed in alien abductions, demonic possession, hauntings, clairvoyance or any of the other paranormal phenomena. But, standing on the perimeter of this makeshift camp of dropouts and layabouts, he had felt something. He was Welsh, and flowing through his veins was Celtic blood. He felt as if something had reached deep inside his mind and had, perhaps, triggered ancient racial memories. Whether or not that was true wasn't important. What had scared him was the fact that he had lost all control over the arm which was holding the loud hailer. He could have sworn that he had felt a smooth-skinned hand, the hand of a young woman, resting on his hand and, without exerting any power, had made him lower his arm.
The spell was broken now. He could move. Although he could feel the girl's eyes fixed on him, he shifted his gaze to the sheet of paper which he held in his other hand. He noticed that it trembled slightly.
He swallowed a few times and began to read out his prepared statement.
'My name is Alan Jenkins. I am now formally asking you to leave this site. I am warning you that if you resist or intentionally obstruct me or any of my bailiffs, you may be liable to arrest and prosecution for an offence contrary to section 10 of the Criminal Law Act 1977.'
Old Jenkins made a pig's ear of that, thought Inspector Ward when the Sheriff had finally read out his warning. Why did the stupid fool give that girl the chance to do her stuff? Now they have a psychological advantage over my men. Those protesters were terrified a moment ago. It would have been child's play to remove them. But now look at them — proud, defiant and thinking they have God on their side. My men, meanwhile, look as if all the fight has gone out of them. Some of the stupid sods are even pretending they have itchy noses so that they can wipe away their tears without anyone noticing. Well, I've noticed. Yes, you can look at me like that, Constable Prendergast. When I've finished bawling you out you'll really have something to snivel about. At least I've spotted Penelope Starling. I hope Constables Priddy, Gunter and Smythe-Harrison can remove the family with the minimum of fuss. Okay, time to move in.
Inspector Ward gave the signal.