Free Buried Fire by Jonathan Stroud Page A

peculiar names of the Wirrim region, but it is generally accepted that 'Wirrim' itself derives from the Anglo-Saxon 'wer-gend' (gen, pl. 'werian'), meaning 'defender', since the ridge would be protection both from enemies and, in the valleys below, from the harshest weather. 'Wirrinlow' thus stems from the Anglo-Saxon 'werian-hlaew' meaning 'defenders' mound', suggesting it was once a raised point and may well have sunk. ('Hlaew' in Saxon may mean mound, cave or barrow.) The etymology of Fordrace is obvious: the village is sited at the fording point of a strong stream or 'race'.*
    It was here that the ink message in the margin pronounced its scathing message. The asterisk referred to a footnote at the bottom of the page. This read:
    *A dissenting view has been offered by Mr Arthur Willis, a local folklorist and archaeologist, whose theories are recorded here for the sake of completeness. He argues that 'Wirrim' derives (by a somewhat tortuous process) from the Anglo-Saxon 'wyrm' meaning 'serpent' or 'dragon', and that 'Wirrinlow' is hence a derivation of 'wyrm-hlaew', or 'dragon's mound'. This, while barely possible, is strained beyond belief by his contention that Fordrace stems from the Anglo-Saxon 'fyr-draca' or 'fire-dragon'. A case, perhaps, of a gentleman's obsessions overcoming his objective intelligence.
    Tom could just make out, very faintly, another ink marking here. He angled the page towards the light and traced the words. It said: 'Limmins and Willis, both fools – but Limmins blessed because ignorant.'
    Tom stopped reading and gazed meditatively towards the ceiling. The library was very quiet and Ms Sawcroft was nowhere to be seen. No doubt about it, there was something here, some issue which Tom did not understand, but which caused passions to flare. What was it? Why should words matter enough to deface a book? He sighed. It was more than probable that the ink writing was very old – perhaps a hundred years or more. There was no chance of it having any relevance today. The whole thing was pointless.
    He should go back to the church. There was more than enough to do there. And ring Sarah. He really must do that. The library, and this book, were just a waste of time . . .
    A woman carrying a bag of books entered the library and went over to the desk and rang the bell. After a pause, Ms Sawcroft appeared from a back room and came hurriedly over to renew the loans. Tom shook his head to dispel the mood of weariness and indifference which had drifted over him. Yes, he would go, and soon, but not before checking the other reference highlighted at the front of the book. Let's see . . . Page 68 . . . He turned the thick, clothy pages in his hand, slowly, carefully, until he came to the place he sought.
    This was side-headed: 'Wirrinlow – historical references and traditions' and was fairly brief. Tom read on:
    The hollow known as Wirrinlow has likewise appeared several times in local history and folklore, where it has a dubious reputation. The first reference is in a 16th century pamphlet kept in Hopalming museum, entitled 'Sprites and othere Visitations'. According to this, 'Marjorie Fawershame did, upon the 14th April 1583, receve upon the Wirrinlaw, also knowne as the Pitte, an unholy visitation, which lefte her frothing and nere dead. Aftere sixe days, complaining shrilley of devilles and impes around her, she was removed to Hostone Priorie, where latterly she died.'
    Beside the passage, the writer in ink had been at work again: 'She had not the will.'
    Tom frowned at this. It was quite beyond him, but the tone of it he did not like. Suddenly he realised how uncomfortable the library had become. The woman at the counter was complaining loudly to Ms Sawcroft about an overdue fine, and the heat in the room had grown intense, an uncomfortable heat which made his neck and wrists sweat and stilled even the buzzing of the bluebottles by the window. Tom got up and opened the casement wide. Fresher air wandered in. He