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across the paddock and into the dyke, a distance of some fifty-seven yards. The pudding was sadly ruined by ditch water but the bowl had miraculously stayed in one piece.
     
    For the next few hours Asa sat inside the wooden pedestal shining the torch through the pages and searching for some sort of lead. When he had gone through a pile he would emerge, lie on his back, stretch his limbs, and then get a new pile of documents to go through.
    The pages at the top of the trunk seemed to have been thrown in as an afterthought and the further he dug down the more ordered the documents became with projects bound into ledgers, dated journals and some printed material that was written the right way around. There were also lots of maps, graphs and diagrams, detailed watercolours of plants and animals. Asa felt he was close, but could still spot nothing relating specifically to the fairies.
    The town clock chimed every hour but nonetheless Asa had lost all track of time. Did I just hear the clock? Was that three or four o’clock? Did I fall asleep? The spidery writing was becoming harder and harder to focus on and his head began to pound.
    Reaching the end of a particularly big stack of papers he was shocked to count seven chimes of the town clock and he peeked out of his box to see the sky outside beginning to lighten. He had an hour, hour and a half at most, before Mr Trap came to open up. There was one more hefty armful to go through and as there was now more light he spread the sheets out on the marble floor. He had given up trying to read the words and was now just scanning the drawings and paintings. That’s when he came to a large leather-bound book with two straps and buckles that held it shut. He undid the buckles and opened the book to find that it was, in fact, a box with a hinged lid, the inside of which was a mirror. Inside the box was a roll of parchments tied with a black ribbon and two smaller leather-bound volumes, the first of which had a title scorched on to the front. Asa lifted the book, held it to the mirror and read the title:
    The Windvale Sprites
     
    This was it! He had found it. He didn’t even bother to open the book but put it back into the mirrored box with the roll of paper and shut the lid. He placed the box in his hiding place and started to load the rest of the work back into the trunk. Without the box there was extra space in the trunk and as he pushed the lid closed the mechanisms whirled back into action and the trunk locked itself shut.
    Asa squeezed back into the box and waited for somebody to come and open up. Then a ghastly thought occurred to him. Today was Sunday! The library was closed all day! But just as a panic was starting to rise Asa heard the unmistakable sound of Mr Trap’s irritating footsteps approaching the library steps and he remembered the television broadcast and breathed a sigh of relief. He heard Trap cross the entrance looking for the key to the reading room, then he stopped and all went quiet for a moment, as if he had spotted something. Asa held his breath and could hear his own heart pumping in his chest. Mr Trap took a large breath in through his nose seeming to notice the strong, musty smell of the papers. But he obviously thought no more of it and let himself into the reading room, switching on lights as he went. Asa looked out and, through the window in the inner door, watched until Mr Trap went into the staffroom to prepare the first of many cups of foul-smelling ‘tea’. Then Asa slipped out of the front door with the large package under his arm and made his way home in an excited daze.

10
     

The Windvale Sprites
     
     
    Mum and Dad were up and packing for their trip and were surprised to see Asa back so early from his sleepover.
    ‘Oh yes,’ said Asa, thinking on his feet, ‘Chris’s family all go to church on a Sunday.’
    ‘Do they?’ said Mum, surprised. ‘Well, I never would have guessed.’
    She was eyeing the box under Asa’s arm.
    ‘And I