and a steep drop off Ringham Edge. Fallen leaves filled a wide hollow between the tower and the rock outcrops they called the Cat Stones. Jenny sat for a while on a broken ledge at the base of the tower, staring at the view across the dale, waiting for her breathing to slow down, but feeling the chill begin to creep over her skin. She shouldn’t stay long, or her muscles would stiffen. Down in the valley, she could see the farm, with a field full of cows, a cluster of gritstone buildings and a bigger, newer shed with a dark green steel roof. A track
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he studied it carefully for figures ran past the farm, and s towards the tower. walking by the gate and heading up But there was no one today. As she stood up to retrieve her bike, she noticed a the stones of the tower which had a een crevice in led drinks cans and c1g crammed with cramp shook her head oh for the’ Rang packets. Jenny es who hg about the litter. it was a j
patrolled the moor. reached the stone circle A few minutes later, s were only about four feet high, again. The Nine Virgins of flattened and eroded and they stood in a clearing Yards grass between clumps of birch and oaks. Fifteen anoutlier le stone on its own, from the circle was a sing - the stone that they called the e Fiddler’ g been dcag to the legend, nine bath been turned to stone dancing on the Sabbath and had ed for them had suf. for their sinThe fiddler whop le stone looked lonely fered the same fate. Noe m se er to stand outside the and isolated, condemn
circle. Jenny stopped the bike and wiped her palms over the tissue. The hills were already misting into grey but the clouds broke and allowed a banks of bracken, was no sound but trickle of sun on to the moor. There ere was for the wind wh ispenng across the heather. it was no one to be seen now; she was alone. And perfectly safe on a bike - as long as you didn t get a puncture. ‘Oh, damn! led to turn her bike upside She dismounted and struggled
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down to inspect the back tyre. Immediately she saw the glitter of a sliver of glass. It had slit a gaping wound in the rubber tread and gone straight through to puncture the inner tube. She pulled the glass free, flinching at the sharp edges, and listened to the last gasp of escaping air. The tyre looked peculiarly lifeless as it hung from the wheel, the soft grey skin of its collapsed tube protruding under the rim. Jenny knew what a hassle it was to get the tyre off the back wheel, repair and replace it, and she was already reaching that state of tiredness where everything felt like a major task. But there was nothing else for it. Sighing, she flipped the quick-release lever and dropped the wheel on the ground. The forks of the bike pointed into the air in an undignified posture, like a dead animal on its back. She was reminded of a photograph that had been taken at the height of the panic over mad cow disease. It had shown a slaughtered British Holstein cow, a huge animal with its stomach bloated, its vast udder shiny and leaking a dribble of milk, and its four stiff legs pointing ludicrously to the sky. The cow had been waiting its turn to be rolled into an incinerator. Its photograph had been on the front of leaflets that Jenny had helped to distribute, and she had seen it so many times that the details had stayed with her ever since, along with other images of things that had been done to animals. Automatically, she patted the pouch she wore round her waist, to make sure it was still there. Soon, she would have to decide what to do with what it contained.
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Jenny shivered e cold. The feathery stems e’ ocotton and the evening would b grass created patches of golden mist close to the ground. They hovered just above the heather, moving in the wind like live creatures stirring in their nests.ears that It was the noise of the wind in jenny’s covered the soft sound of footsteps until the walker was only a few feet behind her.
In half an hour, Mark was due to go off duty. Owen had given him exact instructions for his first solo patrol - a pass across the face of Ringham and a descent into the valley on the far side, where the moor turned into farmland. There he s for recent damage, and have la scout stiles and signpost around for the worst of the litter left by hikers. On the way back, he should have a glance at the Nine Virgins to see that the ancient monument more scarred than usual; have a word, to have vitched their tents in campers foolhardy k c uldn hmagme why anybody would the woods. Mar want to camp on they were But still t did it. of alone in November. breaking the law when they did. Near the top of the-track he noticed a crumpled Coke Mutteri can, dropped by some careless visitorangrily, angrily, he picked it up and slipped it under the flap chocolate of his rucksack, where it joined a small pile el of empty bar wrappers, aluminium ring-pulls an
Marlboro packet Mark mond Tower, to be disposed of later-near the Hamm
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couldn’t tolerate the attitude that made people think it was OK to scatter the environment with litter. They thought their own convenience was more important. If he had his way, Mark would ban these people completely from the national park. He would put tollgates on all the entrance roads and issue passes for admission. It might come to it one day, too. The park couldn’t cope with the constantly rising numbers. There were tyre tracks in the sandy soil here. That meant there had been a mountain biker this way recently. Mark knew his by-laws; he had read the regulations carefully, and he knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. The Peak District National Park Authority had prosecuted mountain bikers before. He smiled in satisfaction, then immediately felt guilty. Owen said the main skills you needed as a Ranger were tact and diplomacy. Why get into an argument when you could achieve more with a friendly word of advice? Mark knew he had a lot to learn. Sometimes he couldn’t find the right things to say to people who appalled him with their stupidity and their disregard for their own safety, the property of others - and, above all, for the environment and its wildlife. That was their greatest crime, these people who desecrated the moors. The last thing they deserved was diplomacy. Though it was only two o’clock, it would be starting to go dark in a couple of hours’ time. For a few days now, Mark had noticed that peculiar half-light, like full moonlight, that came at five o’clock in the afternoon, when all the colours seemed to change and glow for a few minutes before fading into the darkness. The
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Summer turning back of the clocks at the end of Briers Walkers Time always worried the Peak Park Rang were liable to miscalculate and still be on the hills when it went dark. cold, but Mark didn’t feel The afternoon was turning the chill. The red fleece jacket he wore prouit was dly, aalso
its silver Peak Park insignia, kept him way came across a reassuring sight for the visitors a Rang - those who were lost and bewildered, exhausted or injured, or simply inadequately dressed and too poorly or walking the moors. The sight of the red equipped f was like a friendly . It meant a Ranger beacon. approaching.
Jenny Weston had been in the act of smiling when rishe slipped shattered, her died. Her smile had as stiffened into a grin of fear ribs. coated, and with a The blade was sharp, tungsten
lethal tip. It slit the cotton and a layer subcutaneous fat aslit through her skin anyer of a of blood thrust towards her Tea .and aalsingleh spur the her T-shirt turned splashed on to the handlebars of the Kokomo. the wound As soon as the knife was Withdrawn, looked hers Jenny looked closed and ceased to bleed esse the the red pressed down, astonished, and patch. Inside her ribcage, her heart sac was already filling with leaking blood; the pressure of it squeezed her heart and constricted its movement. Then her left lung deflated and a gush of fluids filled the cavity. She
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began to feel light-headed; her hands and feet turned numb, and her legs lost the strength to hold her body upright. She made no resistance as she was grasped under the armpits and dragged across the clearing, with her heels leaving trails in the sandy soil. As fresh blood failed to reach her brain and extremities, her skin turned a dirty white; her legs and belly looked like lumps of boiled fish as they were deliberately exposed to the light. The blade of
