by Denis Byrne
When Sergeant Neville got his dropped jaw back into place to ask him where he’d been for so long, Harrington added to his bewilderment by placing a finger to his mouth to indicate secrecy. Before he could be reminded he was being insubordinate to a superior officer, Harrington had disappeared in the direction of the Superintendent’s office. The last to arrive was Mr. Pearson.
Neville groaned, wondering what that battleaxe of a wife of his had sent him to complain about this time, but before he could say a word, Superintendent Clifford came out to greet Mr. Pearson and usher him into his office as though he were a long-lost friend. Sergeant Neville was left scratching his head in puzzlement.
*
Harrington thought he was hearing things as Danny outlined the manner in which he’d received the message Aloysius had left on the door of his shack. Of course, he told himself, he shouldn’t be surprised by anything any more. After witnessing Charlie transform into a dog, then hearing about Mr. Pearson saving his life when he fell off a pterodactyl, he supposed by this stage he should be capable of taking everything he heard in his stride where Danny was concerned.
But a dart-blowing stag convening a meeting of the woodland animals in response to Danny’s request that any help he could get from them regarding the case would be appreciated. Well, that was a little hard to come to grips with. But the proof was there before Harrington’s eyes in the form of the message lying on the Superintendent’s desk, which had only minutes ago been read out to them. And it could just possibly be the break they’d been waiting for.
*
It was one of Mrs. Vixen’s cubs who’d been the source of the information. Unwittingly, let it be said. Ferdinand was a handful at the best of times, but ever since he’d had his fortune told by Geraldine Gypsy Moth one day at a fete Madam Noseybeak had organised to raise funds for the recently widowed Wendy Wren, he’d become worse. He was missing whenever Mrs. Vixen wanted him to sweep out the den when it was his turn to do so. Even at meal times, when she called his name to come in, nine times out of ten, Ferdinand was nowhere to be found.
An unknown member of the wren community had been responsible for the death of Wendy’s husband when a practical joke had gone disastrously wrong. Wilfred and a large number of his male friends had been on a night out to celebrate the forthcoming twig-lifting competition which was held annually. Wilfred had been victorious the previous year, hoisting several ounces more than any of the other competitors could manage.
No one knew how the celebrations got out of hand, but it was whispered that there was toad-licking involved. This had never been established one way or the other, as none of the wrens could remember anything about what had gone on after the first half-hour.
This was initially treated with scepticism. Herbert the hare voiced the opinion that a cover-up was taking place. Ollie the otter wheezed in agreement, while also informing all and sundry that he really should be in bed as he was suffering from a life-threatening bout of pneumonia at the moment.
Lie-detector tests revealed nothing one way or the other, and it was finally accepted that the general amnesia amongst those who attended the party was genuine. But the fact remained that Wilfred’s wings had been super-glued to his body, resulting in him plunging to his doom from the topmost branch of an oak tree in which the celebrations were being held. It was taken as the truth that the culprit wasn’t even himself aware his foolish prank had been responsible for Wilfred’s demise.
The fete was a great success, and a wonderfully generous woodland community contributed handsomely to the fundraising. They felt so sorry for poor Wendy, they thought it was the least they could do after her terrible loss. Those who could, such as Geraldine Gypsy Moth, set up stalls and tents, gladly giving of their time and abilities in order to ensure Wendy and her fledglings would lack for nothing in the future.
Madam Noseybeak oversaw the whole thing with her usual impeccable organisational skills. She sifted through the various applications of those prepared to render assistance, passing some, discarding others, and leaving a number of disgruntled individuals wondering why their offers had been rejected.
Owen Owl’s suggestion that a hooting competition be included was given short shift. Owen had proposed a substantial prize be awarded to the winner. Madam Noseybeak pointed out to him that as he was the one most likely to win it, she thought it was nothing but a self-serving ploy which was beneath contempt. Owen’s outrage at the slur being cast on his integrity didn’t impress those who heard it as being in any way genuine. They were well acquainted with Owen’s acting talent, as his great grandfather had been the well known Shakespearian thespian, Sir Laurence Oily Owl.
Porcupine-juggling was also given the cold shoulder, as was the milk-drinking contest proposed by old Mr. Fantail. But there were more than enough events for everyone to enjoy.
And so it was that Ferdinand found himself in the queue for Geraldine Gypsy Moth’s fortune-telling tent, just moments after he’d blown six unsuccessful darts at the board in Aloysius’s stall. Aloysius had given a demonstration beforehand. He’d made it look simple to hit the required numbers to win a prize. Watching him, Ferdinand thought he’d have a go. But had he known how difficult it would be to get the necessary score, he’d have fashioned himself a telescopic sight to place on the blowing-reed beforehand.
When Ferdinand’s turn came to enter Geraldine’s tent, he hopped up on the log provided opposite the one on which she was perched. There was a bowl of water and some sycamore leaves in front of Geraldine, who was wearing a colourful bandana on which tiny silver stars twinkled brightly. She appeared to be asleep, and Ferdinand was forced to emit a few polite growls to gain her attention.
‘Ple-as-e!’ Geraldine forestalled him in an unsettlingly eerie voice. ‘Desist! I’m communing with the spirits of your ancestors. On no account must my concentration be broken.’ She flapped her wings and arose from the log, hovered over the bowl of water for a few seconds before settling down on the log again. ‘You must first cross my leaves with silver before we can proceed .’
Ferdinand was impressed in spite of himself. Any time he’d seen Geraldine about her daily business, she seemed very normal to him, but his Mother had once told him that Gypsy Moths had special powers which had been passed down to them from medieval times, and he was on no account to ever upset them by chasing after them just for the fun of it. Strange things had happened in the past to those who didn’t pay them proper respect.
Ferdinand duly did as he was instructed, placing the necessary offering upon the leaves. Geraldine then commenced to shudder in the most alarming manner. There wasn’t an awful lot of her in terms of bodyweight, yet, nevertheless, the entire tent began to ripple and shake as though there was a storm brewing up outside. And everything settled down just as quickly when she became still once more. Ferdinand couldn’t help but wonder what was coming next. He hadn’t long to wait.
‘You have indeed been correctly christened,’ Geraldine pronounced, after first opening one eye to ensure that the leaves had received their due. ‘For your name signifies that you are destined to carry out many great achievements in the future. You are world-daring and life-adventuring. One of your ancestors was Ferdinand the Great, an eleventh century Spanish king. Another was Ferdinand Magellan, the world famous Portuguese navigator. From him you have inherited your restless spirit and love of exploration. Your future will be an exciting one.’
Ferdinand, never having been the shy and retiring type even before Geraldine’s predictions, became positively hyperactive after that. Mrs. Vixen couldn’t do a thing to control his wanderings. And she might as well have been talking to a boulder any time she consulted her husband on the matter. His entire life was taken up with landscape painting. In fairness, he was an extremely gifted artist, and his paintings hung in some of the most prestigious galleries around the world. The secret of his success sprang from the fact that he’d been born with a tail fashioned in the shape of a paintbrush, which was deemed by art experts ever
ywhere to be of the exact dimensions in all respects to the one used by Leonardo da Vinci in creating the Mona Lisa.
Which was all very well and good for keeping the roof over their den and providing for his family in a material manner, but it sometimes left poor Mrs. Vixen at her wits end in coping with the domestic responsibilities, even if she was proud of her husband’s achievements. The cubs were getting bigger by the day, and it was she who had to worry about everything to do with their upbringing. It might as well have been a one-parent family in a lot of respects, so it was no wonder Mrs. Vixen’s fur had more than a little grey creep into it over the years.
And on the day that Ferdinand disappeared at the crack of dawn, and still hadn’t returned by midnight, she was in two minds whether or not she should report it to the Woodland Missing Offspring Bureau. But she decided to wait. And it was a very good thing she did too, for Ferdinand arrived home in the early hours of the morning with the most incredible tidings. After Mrs. Vixen had listened to his breathless outpouring, she sent one of the other cubs to fetch Aloysius immediately.
*
‘Now, Ferdinand,’ Aloysius said patiently, after he arrived hothoof to Mrs. Vixen’s den, having listened to what Ferdinand had to report. ‘You’re absolutely sure about all this?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Ferdinand said with more than a trace of indignation. ‘I’m going to be the greatest explorer in the world some day.’
‘But wolves, Ferdinand,’ Aloysius said. ‘They couldn’t have been wolves you heard. We don’t have them in Ireland.’
‘Perhaps they were owls, dear,’ Mrs Vixen interjected helpfully. ‘There are always lots of them around at night.’
‘Mother, I know what owls sound like. I’m a direct descendent of Ferdinand the Great.’
‘Of course you are, dear,’ his Mother said soothing, seeing no connection whatsoever between owls and Ferdinand the Great, and becoming worried that poor Ferdinand was now hallucinating due to sheer excitement.
‘I’d be obliged, Mrs. Vixen,’ Aloysius said a tad pompously, ‘if you’d leave this to me. Ferdinand may have discovered the very thing Danny’s asked us to keep a look out for. We must treat everything he has to tell us with the utmost importance.’ He returned his attention to Ferdinand after Mrs. Vixen merely raised her eyebrows at this rebuke, then went outside to scratch herself against the bark of a tree. ‘Now, start at the beginning again, Ferdinand. And never mind about the wolves this time. After all, if you didn’t actually see them, it might just as well have been a pack of stray dogs you heard howling.’
Ferdinand sighed. Adults, he thought to himself, why do they think they know everything? After all, he’d been the one who’d been there, and what he’d heard certainly hadn’t come from dogs. Nevertheless, he had to admit he hadn’t actually seen them, so there was no point in doing anything other than telling the rest of the story.
About heading off deeper into the countryside than he’d ever ventured before. Absolute miles and miles from home, his heart racing with excitement, the words of Geraldine Gypsy Moth foremost in his thoughts. This was a rehearsal for the years ahead, when he’d set off on a great expedition to discover as yet uncharted territory where no fox had ever before set paw. It was delightful the feeling of freedom it gave him. Racing through green fields, hurtling gates and ditches, swimming across streams and, finally, in pitch darkness, squeezing through a high hedge so tightly entangled with briars that he could feel the thorns dig into his flesh.
It was only his determination to see what lay beyond it that made him grit his teeth and steel himself against the pain. Ferdinand knew none of his siblings would have battled through such a formidable obstacle. The first jab of a defensive thorn and they’d have beaten a hasty retreat. Not to mention fleeing from the terrifying howling coming from beyond it.
It was when he’d breached this all but impenetrable barrier, with so many things happening in such quick succession, that he realised he’d stumbled into sinister territory. A place where bushes moved and a great big shining bird with revolving wings hung in the air before descending to land where the bushes had scuttled out of it way. And before the strange bird had settled down, there were humans flicking beams of light in front of them, one of them calling out to someone they seemed to have lost.
But they found her in a tree, and carried her limp body inside a house that even Ferdinand’s keen eyes hadn’t noticed earlier, due to the fact that it was covered over with such a mountain of vegetation. And the mysterious howling stopped abruptly. It must have been the sudden silence or something which made Ferdinand remember the meeting Aloysius had called. This place, he decided, must suely be where the kidnappers were holed up. So, after enduring another needle attack from the entangled briars as he struggled through them once more, he’d raced home as fast as he could with the news.
*
Aloysius’s spent another hour editing the notes he’d taken as he’d listened to Ferdinand’s tale. There was no point in sending Danny a full account of every single detail, knowing that the vital ones were all that mattered. It certainly sounded as though Ferdinand had stuck gold. Aloysius certainly hoped so.
He remembered all the praise that had been heaped on Madam. Noseybeak when she’d provided the information leading to the capture of the wheelchair bank robbers. How could he forget it? She’d given everyone a pain in the head for months afterwards by continually reminding them how she’d masterminded the operation. Which, in fairness to her, she had, but really - -. Some pigeons just didn’t know when enough was enough.
As he put the final touches to the message, Aloysius told himself that he certainly wouldn’t bore everyone silly when he found himself being lauded in a similar manner. He might even mention that Ferdinand had been of some small assistance to him when the bouquets were being flung at him from all directions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘This has to be a seriously covert operation,’ the Superintendent told them, after everybody had been briefed and provided with a photostat of the map which Aloysius had drawn beneath the message. ‘Just the four of us. It’s a certainty they’ve the entire area surrounding their hideout saturated with CCTVs, and everything else besides. If we were foolish enough to send in a SWAT team to storm the place, we’d be wasting our time. They’d see them coming a mile off.’
‘May I make a suggestion, Superintendent?’ Mr. Pearson asked politely. He’d already been filled in about Danny and Charlie the same way as Harrington had been some time ago.
‘By all means do, Mr. Pearson. We need all the assistance we can get on this one. What do you have in mind? Eh?’
‘I think it would be a good idea if Charlie would stop nibbling my ear. I know he’s still grateful for what I did last night, but I find it rather distracting.’
The burst of laughter that followed was a welcome relief and helped to ease some of the tension which had been building in the office. On hearing this, Charlie took it on himself to fly to the top of a filing cabinet, and perched there for the remainder of the meeting. It was difficult to say by his parrot expression whether he was sulking or not.
‘I understand, Mr. Pearson,’ the Superintendent resumed, after the laughter died down, ‘that your expertise in the electronics field is second to none.’
Mr. Pearson blushed at the compliment. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Superintendent,’ he replied bashfully. ‘Though any knowledge I do have in that direction is at your disposal. I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.’
‘Do you have it with you, Mr. Pearson?’ Danny asked, using his thumb as though pressing down an invisible button. ‘I’m sure the Super would be interested in seeing a demonstration.’
Mr. Pearson took his creation out of his pocket and cradled it in the palm of his hand. Harrington looked at it and wondered what all the fuss was about. It was only a television remote control. How on earth was that going to help? As far as Harrington was concerned, they now knew all they wanted to know. Sitting arou
nd discussing television remotes was only wasting valuable time.
‘What would you like me to do?’ Mr. Pearson asked, eyeing the Superintendent, awaiting instructions.
Harrington couldn’t contain a snort of impatience.
‘I think someone else needs convincing more than I do,’ the Superintendent replied, glancing at Harrington’s sceptical face, ‘Eh, Harrington? Perhaps you should use him as your guinea pig, Mr Pearson.’
‘Really, sir - -’ Harrington started, then instantly found himself incapable of movement, or being able to complete what he was about to say.
He’d simply no idea what had happened to him, though was fully conscious throughout the experience. He could see Mr. Pearson had the remote pointing at him, was also aware that the Superintendent was sitting there with his mouth agape, and that Danny was doing his best not to smile too broadly. Then he heard Mr. Pearson tell the Superintendent to ask him something. ‘Well, Harrington,’ he heard quite clearly. ‘What do you think now? Eh?’
But, of course, Harrington couldn’t reply. He tried with all his might to form a sentence, but not so much as a grunt escaped his lips. His mind was working perfectly. Mr. Pearson had only used the mild button, the one which rendered those he beamed it at helpless, without interfering with their thought processes, or freezing them completely.
Harrington was furiously attempting to overcome its effects, calling on the deepest recesses of his mental strength, straining inwardly to break the beam’s power, though remaining outwardly expressionless and bodily immobile. When Mr. Pearson released him from the force of the invisible beam, Harrington’s sense of relief was immense. It took him at least a minute of deep breathing before he was able to ask, ‘What happened to me? I couldn’t move a muscle.’
