The Button Snatchers

By Frank A. Rose

A young lad, Wink, is presented with one of five Buttons alleged to be endowed with magical powers, and inveigled into undertaking to seek out the remaining four Buttons which lie hidden within the perilous wild lands of Pendene Forest and its surrounds. His adventures bring him into contact with the strangest of strange creatures and situations.

Will he succeed or be overcome by the likes of Scrimp the Scavenger; the nauseous Swiper the Viper; Sadie the Shady Lady? Can the Rinkydink be trusted or will the astute, well-finded Lynas and his lurcher Limpalong beat him in finding the Buttons?

A wondrous feat of nature lures Wink into the clutches of the utterly despicable goblins, Gorak and Grundel. How will he escape a fate of torture and imprisonment?

Seeking out the fifth and final Button proves to be the most difficult challenge yet, but fortuitously the retired wizard Wimbolin is persuaded to join Wink in the search. This is when things really begin to heat up! Will greed and self-interest triumph, or will the joint efforts of Wink and Wimbolin obtain the five Buttons and secure them for the benefit of all within Pendene?

Here is mystery and magic in motion!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035840571

Frank A. Rose

Frank, now a retired bank official living in Northampton, enjoys spending time with his love of writing about adventures featuring magic, mystery and skulduggery, often in bygone times and in a world peopled by bizarre beings and creatures conjured up by a fertile imagination.  This is one of many such stories.

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About the Author

Frank, now a retired bank official living in Northampton, enjoys spending time with his love of writing about adventures featuring magic, mystery and skulduggery, often in bygone times and in a world peopled by bizarre beings and creatures conjured up by a fertile imagination. This is one of many such stories.

Dedication

To Katrina for her encouragement and Sally for her patience.

Copyright Information ©

Frank A. Rose 2024

The right of Frank A. Rose to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035840564 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035840571 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

1

Join me in a wander back through times gone by to settle on a time long before the advent of the telephone, radio or television; before the world became dehumanised by the computer, internet or insidious technology. Enter a sector of land little used by man, yet inhabited by the improbable and often unimaginable.

It is a day with fluffy, white clouds drifting languidly in the azure of a late summer sky. The cobbler’s youngest son, Wink, is busy unloading his hand cart with no thought in his mind that this was a day that would forever change his life.

What’s your name, boy? snapped a voice from behind him. Wink spun around to see that the speaker was an elderly gypsy woman. Bent forward with age and dressed mostly in black, she regarded Wink with piercing black eyes that danced in her wrinkled, weather-bronzed face.

Well? I asked you a question.

Thadeous.

And your other name?

Stringbolt, Thadeous Stringbolt, stammered Wink, a little taken aback by the woman’s forthright manner.

A right little shrimp, ain’t you?

That is exactly why most people call me Wink – short for winkle pin, he responded angrily, niggled at her directness of address.

Heh, heh, heh, wheezed the old lady through age-blackened teeth.

I’ll have you know that it’s not size that’s important, was Wink’s indignant reply. It is character that counts. It is how you live your life – what sort of person you are; how you treat other people. These are the things that really matter.

Are they now? Maybe you’ve got enough character about you to get a travel-weary old lady a drink of water on a hot day, she replied, mopping her brow with the tail end of her shawl.

Wink didn’t trust the woman one little bit. Didn’t even like her with her demanding manner. In spite of this, he wouldn’t begrudge any creature on God’s earth a drink of water when needed. By the time he had returned from the pump, she had entered the garden and seated herself alongside the wood store.

You know my name, yet I know nothing of yours. Don’t you think that is rather rude of you? asked Wink as the old lady slaked her thirst with inelegant gulps of cool water.

Marcella, she replied as water dribbled down her chin. Some people call me Marcella the Mystic. Then again, I’ve been called many things by many people in my time. So saying, she relaxed back against the wood store and shed her worn buckled shoes to reveal a multitude of holes in her tatty black undergarments. Wink couldn’t help but wonder how anyone, let alone his visitor, could go through life, toiling away day after day, to finish up without the way-with-all to even afford a decent set of hose to wear.

Would you believe, said Marcella, that it is three whole days since a morsel of food has passed these poor old lips of mine?

Then you must be mightily hungry.

That I am, young sir…famished! I don’t suppose, by any chance, that there happens to be any food about this fine cottage that might come my way?

In truth, Wink’s father and brother were both away at their work and his mother had gone to market at nearby Kerbishly with sister Francis, leaving Wink a meal of cold mutton, bread and gherkins to see him through the day. He still wasn’t that keen on this old lady, never-the-less, he was beginning to feel a little sorry for her. You had better come inside and I’ll see what I can find, declared Wink.

Marcella didn’t need to be invited twice. She grabbed hold of her shoes, hitched up her skirt and hobbled after Wink into the dwelling’s dark interior.

It wasn’t long before the old lady was seated at the rough wooden table tucking into what had been intended as Wink’s main meal, intent only on eating, with little regard to her surroundings. Mutton’s a bit tough! she remarked, her jaws chomping up and down, making her hollow cheeks dance like two cats fighting to get out of a sack.

Perhaps you’ve done me a favour by saving me from eating it, was Wink’s sarcastic reply.

It was only when she had finished demolishing the food that Marcella sat back and began to regard her surroundings. Her eyes scanned the soot-stained walls; the central fire bowl with its smoke exit high above through a permanently open hole in the roof, and the rush-strewn earthen floor.

To where do your travels take you? Where lies your journey’s end? enquired Wink.

Well, my little winkle pin, she answered, I go wherever fate and circumstance dictate, as do we all, leaving him none the wiser. She paused to remove the last remnants of food from her face with the back of her hand before continuing. Before it beholds me to take my departure, I do wonder if your good mother might spare me just one set of her hose?

Hmnn, said Wink, I’m not sure mum would be at all happy with me if I was to go giving away her stockings. If they were mine, I’d gladly part with them, for yours is clearly the greater need.

Then allow me to pay for the Stringbolt’s hospitality by acquainting you with the strange tale of Baron Bustickle’s Buttons, which I do assure you will more than amply compensate you for your kindness.

Baron Bustickle? Who on earth is he? I’ve never heard of him. Perhaps you’d better explain.

Baron Bustickle used to own this whole forest area and a great deal more land besides. One day, many, many decades ago, he was out riding and was unfortunate enough to get caught in a sudden, unforeseen thunderstorm involving torrential rain. In consequence, he and his entourage were thoroughly soaked. Once they returned to his mansion house, his servants hung out his dress tunic together with other items of apparel to dry. Marcella paused for breath and to make sure that she had young Stringbolt’s full attention.

I suppose it just wasn’t his lucky day, she continued. The Widgelin, an ugly and mischievous creature who happened to be lurking nearby, tore off all of the five magic buttons from the tunic and made away with them. It was these buttons that endowed the Baron with his power and prosperity. He was understandingly distraught by his loss. In spite of him offering a substantial reward the buttons were never found, and the forest area gradually sank into its present sorry state, harbouring within many oddballs, and often wickedly unpleasant creatures.

Sounds dangerous out there.

It is dangerous, said the old lady, but it can also be very rewarding. Pendene presents a vast horizon of opportunity, for it is there that the buttons are to be found. Whosoever holds all five of these special buttons will open the door to health, wealth and happiness as well as restoring good fortune to the whole of Pendene. Her black, beady eyes danced with encouragement as she spoke. "Is that a fair trade? A pair of