The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) by D.M. Andrews

notice of them before. ‘Maybe it was shedding its skin when it was killed — well, I mean if it’s real.’
    Jessica’s eyes widened. ‘They look like wings, Thomas. Snakes and lizards don’t have wings!’
    ‘Wings? Are you sure?’ He looked again at the thin folds. They did look like wings now that Jessica mentioned it. ‘So, what is it if it isn’t a snake or lizard?’
    June was soon gone, the short-lived stormy showers passed, and a hot though slightly less-humid July in full swing. Only a couple more weeks of school remained, a fact that put an extra spring into the step of most students at the end of school that day as they made their way down the tree-lined avenue leading from the school gates. Not so with Jessica Westhrop. She already had a spring in her step, and it remained quite unchanged whether the end or beginning of term. Thomas walked alongside her unaware of his sister’s or anyone else’s spring-like steps, and certainly with no spring in his own.
    He was tired. He’d spent his lunch hour in the library with Jessica looking through books on animal life from around the world. Jessica had been searching the library for a week to see if she could find a picture of the creature in Thomas’s glass. She’d had no success and so employed Thomas’s aid at the start of the week to help out. Thomas thought he must’ve now seen a picture or photograph of every type of lizard and snake on the face of the planet. But not one of them looked like the creature in his father’s orb.
    ‘I meant to tell you about something I found in the library today. I forgot about it when we got into those books on reptiles,’ Jessica announced quite unexpectedly, as they left the tree-lined avenue and turned into a street without a single tree in sight.
    Thomas looked up from the cracks in the pavement he was trying to avoid. ‘You did?’
    ‘Yes, I was helping Bernice Flanagan with her project for Mrs Prowse,’ Jessica went on, pulling the strap of her backpack up her shoulder.
    ‘And?’ Thomas said.
    ‘Well, I’ve got something you can add to your essay.’
    Thomas put his hands in his pockets. ‘I already handed it in.’
    ‘What? It’s not due in until next Tuesday!’ Jessica said, stopping and looking quite surprised; after all, she was the one who usually handed work in before Thomas.
    ‘I know,’ Thomas began, ‘but there wasn’t anything else to write.’
    Mrs Prowse had asked everyone in their year to write a page about the first four generations of their own family tree.
    Thomas had finished the short essay two nights ago; at least he’d written what he could. It was a pity that Mr Trevelyan hadn’t known his parents. Thomas had been hoping he would, and not just because of the school project of course. Nevertheless, Thomas had kept a copy of his essay and intended to take it to Scotland with him. Perhaps he could find out something more from Mr Trevelyan. Maybe he knew where his parents were buried. He wasn’t going to give up.
    ‘Oh well, you won’t want to know what I found out then.’ Jessica gave Thomas a mischievous look as she continued on.
    ‘Jess?’ Thomas said, following. She did like to tease him.
    ‘It was about the Farrell surname,’ Jessica explained as they walked along together. ‘It’s Irish too, like Bernice’s.’
    Thomas didn’t feel Irish, though he didn’t feel English either. He felt as if he belonged elsewhere, some place far away and yet very close. It was a feeling that had always been with him, as far as he could remember. Of course, he’d never told anyone; they’d all think him quite mad if he did. He suspected some of those in his class had come to that conclusion already. Why did some people always assume that quiet people were weird?
    ‘It comes from the name Fearghal,’ Jessica added.
    It was Thomas who stopped this time. Jessica went on quite a way before she realized Thomas was no longer beside her.
    ‘Thomas?’ she shouted back. ‘Are