Leigh-Ann Hewer Mighty

Mighty

(Title by Rosa & Dylan, Aged 9 & 6)

chapter one arthur

Arthur hid behind a stack of books so large that nothing but a stray strand of unruly blond hair could be seen of him. Well, that and his legs kicking beneath the table, never quite managing to touch the floor. Behind the stack, Arthur copied a picture from his history book.

It was a picture of a creature that resembled snot. A large pile of goo that held itself together in the shape of a stacked-up cowpat and had twigs sticking out of its head.

Arthur’s tongue hung out of his mouth as he added shading to the creature’s eyes. He twisted his face in concentration and tilted his head to examine his own handiwork. The belly wasn’t quite right. It was just a little too round for a snot-gobbler. He tore the page from his sketchbook, too eager to start anew to crumple his failed attempt. He simply placed it on the pile beside him, atop a rather wonky drawing of a waggle-tailed snarler. The eyes had been far too close together on that one.

Arthur drew quickly and with determination. He had examined the picture in the book so many times he barely needed to glance any more. He knew each curve of a snot-gobbler like the back of his hand. At least, in theory. In practice, was another thing entirely.

‘Alright, alright,’ bellowed a huge voice.

Arthur jumped in his seat as though a bolt of electricity had jolted through his chest. His father seemed to crash into every room, and he was always followed by a herd. A herd of hunters. Loud and obnoxious hunters.

Nicolas Rothurst was a sight to behold. He was tall and broad and stern, with a square jaw and solid chest. His hair was a coarse dark brown and his beard rugged. He was the clan leader, the legendary hunter, the strongest man in all of Mercy.

When Father spoke, all seven men that had entered sat down in a whirlwind of scraping chairs and grunts. Robert sat beside Arthur with such force that the table shook.

Robert was one of the hunters too, and he was the biggest man that Arthur had ever seen, with biceps the size of melons and a scar running from below his right eye, all the way down to his chin. Robert grunted at Arthur in greeting and turned his attention to the other hunters at the table. There was Frederick, Markus, John, Gideon, and Robert.

‘We’ve got a lot to cover,’ Father said. ‘And I don’t have time for your grumbling. First matter of business: my boy.’

Arthur’s cheeks flushed with colour as all six pairs of eyes landed upon him. His eyes dropped to the table and he attempted to duck further behind the stack of books. Looking down, he noticed a spider crawl its way across the table. It skittered up over Arthur’s pencil, then back down onto the parchment. Arthur placed his hand ahead of it, and let it crawl onto his fingers. He twisted his hand around so its tiny little legs tickled his palm and then placed it back on the table to continue on its merry way.

Father cleared his throat and gave Arthur a stern look before gesturing up at the wall behind him. It was covered in portraits. The history of the Rothurst family in all its bizarre and mighty glory. There were paintings of grandfather Edward the Brave, and great-grandfather Charles the Crude, and great-great-grandfather Milton the Brash. The Rothurst monster hunters looked down upon you, the head of the clan for centuries and the protectors of Mercy.

‘It’s about time,’ said Father, ‘you join the greats. Ey, boy?’

The hunters echoed their agreements with mighty arghs. Arthur winced as the ridiculous pirate chorus rang out through the library and Robert ruffled his hair so aggressively his scalp turned red.

Arthur looked at the paintings hanging above him and his stomach turned. The eyes of his ancestors bore into him and suddenly it was as though their ghosts stood all around him. Arthur swallowed hard.

chapter two issy

Issy Rothurst was not supposed to be in the library on Wednesday afternoons. In fact, she wasn’t really supposed to be in the library at all. The library was reserved for important matters. Important matters and men.

Issy had made quite the den behind the bookcase. She had brought a blanket and a jar of Granny Em’s Canoodly-do cookies. She had made friends with the dust bunnies, and she had a brilliant view of all that was going on below.

Issy was quite comfortable in her spot behind the bookshelves on the mezzanine. Her thin legs were folded beneath her and her skirt, frayed at the edges from playing in the dirt, was fanned out around her. Her long dark hair was pulled loosely into pigtails and strands broke free of formation around her face, where they curled in ringlets near her temples.

The men that sat around the table below always spoke so loudly. Issy spoke loudly too, but often went unheard in a way that the large brash men did not. In this instance, however, going unheard was exactly what she needed.

Down below, the hunter’s meeting was in session. Robert sat beside Arthur; his elbows spread wide. Arthur ducked towards the table, scribbling away at a drawing of a snot-gobbler. The rather lean and fair Gideon took up little space with his arms but made a point of spreading his legs out so wide he earned himself a glare and a growl from Frederick beside him. Frederick had red hair and freckles and an eye patch. He claimed to have been caught out by a snow-gnasher, but the truth was, he’d really

had a few too many one night at the Hawkeye Inn and walked right into a coat rack. Granny Em had told everyone.

Issy watched as Arthur sunk back into his seat. The painting of Charles the Crude hanging right above him. Issy could name every Rothurst hunter on the wall. She could point to them with her eyes closed. She’d spent days staring up at her ancestors, hoping.

‘Now,’ Father continued, standing a little straighter, ‘We’ve all noticed that things are getting out of hand out there. The snarlers are getting closer to the village every day. There’s been a few...issues at the wall. We have a village council meeting soon—’

There was a mighty groan from the hunters and Issy shifted closer.

“I’m not sure I can go. I’m injured!” John whined. He stood at six foot three and had a voice like the growl of a crocodile. He pointed frantically to a small cut on his exposed knee and Issy let out a snort, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as it escaped.

‘You whine like a little girl,’ muttered Robert, and Issy scowled behind the bookcase. ‘The thing barely scraped you.’ Robert lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a bloodied gash and nodded smugly. ‘I took out six of ‘em.’

‘And they got a chunk of you.’ Markus mumbled, rolling his eyes.

‘That’s enough,’ said Father. ‘I want you to bring your best next week. No excuses. Understood?’

The men grunted their response. Robert sprung to his feet, thrusting his dagger right down into the wooden table and straight through Arthur’s snot-gobbler drawing.

‘They’re dead!’ he shouted.

Arthur flinched back into his chair, his eyes widening at his ruined drawing. Before she’d even thought of it, Issy had launched herself up into standing and leaned right over the mezzanine railing.

‘Hey!’ Her cheeks were red with anger and she held a shaking finger pointed at the drawing. ‘You destroyed it. Look what you’ve done!’

No one but Arthur took any notice of the drawing. All eyes were glued to the girl standing above them on the balcony.

‘Isabella Rothurst.’ Father’s voice was low and warning. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘You’re just going to let him do that?’ Issy pressed, eyes wide. ‘He ruined it!’

‘What’s she doing here?’ Robert spun on Father.

‘I assure you I have no idea.’ He growled, eyes locked on Issy. ‘Go to your room right now.’

‘But Arthur’s—’

‘We will discuss your punishment later, young lady. I don’t have time for this.’

Anger zipped through Issy’s body. Young lady was always used as a taunt, a way to dismiss. What was wrong with being a young lady anyway?

Father crossed the library in strides and hauled open the double doors.

‘But I—’

‘I will see you at the council meeting when we are finished here, Isabella.’ His glare was hard and unwavering.

Issy clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

She descended the staircase which led to the mezzanine and crossed the room, refusing to meet the eye of anyone but Arthur as she left. She barely had time to turn around and glare at her father when the door was shut firmly in her face, the loud clunk echoing through the house.

Issy glowered up at the door, jaw clenched. She resisted the urge to bang her fists against it, knowing it would only earn her double chores for a month.

Issy marched through the village and towards the village hall with her fists still clenched firmly at her sides. The bright Autumn sun beamed down but the air was brisk and Issy’s cheeks reddened in the cold. She grumbled to herself as she passed Robert’s house. It had a big wooden ‘beware the dog’ sign in front of it. He didn’t have a dog, but his vicious cat Cyrus was so honest-to-goodness awful that the sign still seemed

fitting. Issy distanced herself as she passed, noticing Cyrus stalking his way through the overgrown grass in the front garden.

Everyone in Mercy was heading towards the village hall. Everyone always came to the council meetings. It was one of the many reasons Issy detested them. The grocer shut up shop to attend and the butcher rounded up his six children, his wife, already flushed with the faff of it all, following behind him.

Issy was just passing Granny Em’s house when the old woman’s door swung open and she hobbled her way down the front step.

‘Morning, Granny,’ said Issy.

‘Morning,’ replied Granny Em. ‘Be a dear and walk me to the hall, will you?’ She wiggled a wicker basket that was hanging from her arm. ‘I brought canoodly-dos.’

Issy beamed. If one thing could save any rotten day, it was Granny Em’s canoodly-dos. She took the basket from Granny, allowing her to lean into her cane and come down to the path to join her. Granny Em was all wild grey curls, wrinkled face and thin piano fingers. She was warm and plump in the tummy and her whole face rosied when she smiled, and she only ever seemed to smile for Issy and Arthur. She wore her usual knitted brown cardigan and long black skirt with its frayed hem and she smelt like freshly baked canoodly-do cookies. She always did.

Granny Em wasn’t Issy or Arthur’s real grandmother, but as one of the oldest members of the village, the children had grown accustomed to referring to her as Granny when they were toddlers, and the name had certainly stuck.

‘Issy!’

Issy looked up to find Arthur jogging towards them. He was panting by the time he came to a stop beside them.

‘Wait for me,’ he said. He looked up at her with a guilty smile when he’d finished catching his breath. ‘Thanks for sticking up for me. I’m sorry you got in trouble.’

‘Trouble, ey?’ said Granny Em. Her eyes sparkled. ‘Tell me all about it.’

Vicky Isaac

Vicky is a Bath based primary school teacher turned author who is always seeking adventures.

When she was younger, she spent many a playtime writing ‘novels’ inspired by Jacqueline Wilson stories such as The Story of Tracy Beaker and The Lottie Project. Now she enjoys writing historical fiction for young people.

Vicky studied mathematics and teaching at the University of Chichester and taught for 4 years where she was history lead. But the writing bug was too strong and so she enrolled on the MA Writing for Young People at Bath Spa University.

When Vicky’s not writing, she’s either baking tasty treats or exploring distant lands. She spent most of her teen years bouncing between Bath and Alicante, Spain, where her mother lives. These experiences have influenced her writing.

vicky.isaac@hotmail.com / @MissIsLibrary / @miss_isaac_library

About The Architect

When Javi (Ha-vee) runs away after an argument with his Pa, he finds himself in the Sagrada Familia where a mysterious shadow appears. This shadow pulls Javi in and when he wakes up everything is different. Trees, buildings and electrics that were around are no longer there and the shadow is gone. That’s when he meets the rather grumpy Antoni Gaudi, the Architect of the Sagrada Familia who tells him it’s 1926. Javi must enlist Gaudi’s help to return back to his own time. However, this is not so simple especially when the plans for the Sagrada Familia are stolen. Javi must now help Gaudi retrieve them for the Sagrada Famialia to be completed, diverting him from finding the shadow and going home to make up with Pa. Will he ever make it back to his own time?