Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  James took a quick look around the Sanctuary foyer, its reception desk at the far wall and stairs leading to heaven knows where, but he saw no sign of any guards.

  ‘Hello, my name’s Hazel. May I help you?’ asked a young woman, smiling up at him.

  ‘No!’ James shouted and threw a smoke bomb on the floor. He used the diversion to run to a large house plant to his left. The smoke bomb, such as it was, dissipated almost immediately. Not least because it was only designed for use at children’s parties. A fact Harry had forgot to mention.

  Hazel stared at the strange man and giggled, her hand over her mouth. She peered over to where the man stood upright, trying and failing to hide behind a Yucca plant. ‘Hello,’ she said, walking towards James, ‘May I help you?’

  ‘Don’t worry Miss, he’s with us,’ said Alan from behind her.

  ‘Is he OK?’ Hazel asked.

  ‘I suppose that depends on your definition of OK,’ Alan said, smiling. ‘My girlfriend is staying in Room 2541. Could you tell me where that is?’

  ‘Certainly sir, it’s up the stairs to your left. It’s signed from there.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate it,’ Alan said. ‘Come on James, we’re going to Rosie’s room,’ he said as he and Harry made their way up the stairs.

  James peered out from behind the Yucca, saw the young woman giggling at him, and shot back behind the safety of the plant. James chanced another glance but the woman was still there, hand over her mouth, giggling. Did she think this funny? She was clearly under the influence of the cult. James knew he had no choice but to make a break for the stairs. Steeling himself, he took out another smoke bomb and threw it as he ran for the steps.

  Hazel laughed at the strange man. This was clearly something to do with the Village Fair, she thought to herself. Intrigued, she slowly followed the three men up the stairs to see what would happen next.

  James took the stairs two at a time, overtaking Alan and Harry, who seemed more intent on conversation than helping him. He reached the top of the stairs and saw two men dressed in white robes coming towards him. James panicked and plucked another bomb from his pocket.

  ‘Excuse me,’ one of the robed men said, ‘could you tell us…’

  ‘NO!’ James shouted and hurled the bomb at their feet. A small sprinkling of glitter flew into the air, covering the men whilst James made his escape.

  Alan and Harry reached the top of the stairs, saw the two glitter covered men in robes. ‘Told you, Polyphonic Spree,’ Alan said to a nonplussed Harry, as they followed James’ trail.

  Hazel reached the top of the stairs a moment later, saw the two men covered in glitter and giggled again.

  ‘Could you tell me the way to the sauna room?’ one of the men asked, plucking glitter from his hair.

  Hazel giggled and pointed down the stairs. This was the most fun she’d had in weeks. She followed the two men along the corridor, towards the room the cute man had asked for.

  Alan reached Room 2541. ‘Oi, James, it’s this one,’ he said to his friend who was nervously looking from side to side. ‘Are you OK, mate?’ Alan asked as he knocked on the door.

  Rosie swung the door open. ‘Hi, Alan,’ she said, swooping in to give him a kiss and a cuddle. ‘Harry, Hi,’ she added, giving the older man a hug too. ‘No James?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s just up the corridor. I’m not sure he’s alright,’ Alan admitted. ‘I think the pressure’s finally got to him.’

  Rosie straightened her white dressing gown and beckoned the two men to enter. She poked her head out of the door and called out, ‘James, are you coming in?’

  James nodded and rushed inside. ‘Close the door, they might see us,’ he said.

  Rosie gently closed the door and took both of James’ hands in hers. ‘Are you OK, James? You look a little flustered.’

  ‘I think he’s having some kind of a breakdown,’ Harry said, sitting down with an audible sigh.

  Rosie kept hold of James hands and looked into his eyes. A lone teardrop fell down his cheek. ‘She’s gone, Amy’s gone and I don’t know what to do…’

  Rosie gave him a hug. ‘Look, James, I’m sure it’s going to be OK. She probably just wanted some time to herself. But she’s not here. I asked. And even if she were here, there’s no cult, at worst she would be getting acupuncture. And a head massage.’

  ‘I…I know,’ James admitted. ‘I was just so sure she’d be here. Are you certain she’s not here?’ Rosie nodded. ‘Well, I don’t believe it. I need to find out for myself…’

  ‘OK, James, OK,’ Rosie said, ‘but please, calm down. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Just sit down for a few minutes.’

  ‘I haven’t got a few minutes…’

  ‘Mate,’ Alan said, ‘seriously, calm down, you’re wound up, I understand. But if nothing else now you know she’s not being held captive. Just take a few minutes and relax and we’ll think this through.’

  James sighed and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. The room fell silent. Even Alan, who had a pathological fear of quiet, kept his mouth shut. Eventually James raised his head. ‘I’m going to talk to Frances. Even if Amy’s not here, Frances might know where she’s gone.’

  Alan noted James’ use of Ms Shilling’s proper name and frowned. This wasn’t like James at all. His friend was so carefree, so full of life and energy, to see him like this was heart breaking. Alan had realised very early on that the Sanctuary wasn’t a cult, but he thought this was another of James’ jokes. He would often blow things out of proportion for comic effect, but this, this was something else. Looking at his friend, Alan wondered whether James was really having a breakdown.

  ‘I’m sorry James, but I asked around earlier,’ Rosie said. ‘Frances is out for the evening and isn’t likely to be back until the early hours. The receptionist was a bit vague when I spoke to her.’

  ‘What do I do in the meantime?’ James asked. ‘I can’t stay here.’

  ‘Why don’t you let Harry and I take you back to the pub. Perhaps that crazy barman will give us some afters. That might cheer us up, then we can come back in the morning. What do you reckon?’

  James looked at his friend. He knew Alan was right, and he knew he couldn’t stay here. But he just needed to see Amy so badly. He never contemplated the thought of her not being here, and to leave on his own tore him apart. Reluctantly he got to his feet and allowed Alan to put his arm round his shoulders.

  ‘Sorry to have barged in on you Rosie,’ James said. ‘Only, I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, come here,’ Rosie said, giving James a hug. I’ll keep digging around, see if I can find anything. I’ll try and speak to Frances in the morning. I’m going to stay here until Sunday after the Fair in any case, so I will have plenty of time to find out what’s going on. Alan, I’ll call you in the morning, OK?’

  ‘Thanks. I……thanks,’ James said.

  ‘Come on mate, let’s get you back. A couple of beers will sort you out. Rosie, thanks for this,’ Alan kissed his girlfriend. ‘I’ll speak to you in the morning, OK? Try not to relax too much,’ he smiled.

  Rosie opened the door to let Alan, James and Harry out. After wishing them goodnight, she shut the door behind her, sighed, sat on the bed and flicked the TV on. After working her way through the channels she finally settled on a film. The Magnificent Seven.

  Alan gently eased James along the corridor and down the stairs. ‘Come on, mate, I’ll drive us back, it’s no problem.’

  James reluctantly handed over his car keys as they made their way down to the foyer. His hand caught one final bomb. Closing his hand round the small device, he shrugged off Alan’s arm, grinned maniacally, threw the bomb on the floor and ran out of the door into the grounds of the Sanctuary.

  The tiny glitter bomb twinkled pieces of shimmering paper to the astonishment of the paying guests. Hazel, who had been waiting for the strange men to come back down the stairs stifled a laugh.

  ‘Is your friend rea
lly OK?’ she asked Alan.

  ‘I don’t think so, no. He thought this place housed some kind of cult. You’re not in a cult are you?’

  ‘I’m in a book club, does that count?’ Hazel giggled up at him.

  ‘Not really, no,’ Alan smiled in return, noticing for the first time how cute this woman was.

  ‘Well, I hope to see you at the Fair..?’ Hazel said to Alan’s back.

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ Alan replied as he passed through the doors of the Sanctuary and into the night in search of his friend.

  Chapter 32 – Saturday.

  Rosie zipped up the oversized white protective suit and pulled on the protected gloves. When she signed up for a tour of the apiary, she hadn’t expected to have to dress in what felt like a Hazmat suit.

  Gordon the bee keeper, wearing an identical suit, minus the gloves, stood behind her checking that she had secured the zips and fastenings properly. Satisfied that everything was in order he said, ‘OK Rosie, you’re all zipped up nicely. Before we get to the apiary do you have any questions?’

  ‘Is all this,’ she pulled at the overalls, ‘really necessary?’

  Gordon smiled. ‘You’ll be surprised at the number of people who don’t know they have an allergy to bee stings until it’s too late. Best not take any chances.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘OK. Actually I got stung by a bee once,’ she told him.

  ‘Really?’ Gordon replied.

  ‘Yes, twenty five quid for a jar of honey. It’s my own fault, I should have heard him coming,’ she smiled.

  Gordon frowned at her. Tough crowd, she thought to herself. I wonder if this is what Alan feels every night. She resolved to be nicer about his act in future.

  Seemingly oblivious to Rosie’s joke, Gordon lifted the protective headgear from a bench in front of them and placed it over Rosie’s head. ‘I’ll just have to zip this up for you,’ he said, making sure the veil was safely tucked in. ‘It stops them seeing the whites of your eyes,’ he laughed at Rosie’s look of alarm. ‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. There are several other guests outside already, so if you’d like to follow me we’ll go and join them,’ he said, opening the door leading to the apiary.

  Rosie followed Gordon outside and joined four other similarly suited people standing in a semi-circle. ‘Right, ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to follow me…’ he said and walked toward a plot of land with dozens of identical white boxes set out in rows.

  As they approached the apiary, Rosie noticed a gentle increase in buzzing, then as they reached their destination, the source of the noise. Bees! Rosie was overcome with a strange fusion of fear and excitement and was suddenly glad for the protective clothing.

  ‘Welcome to the apiary,’ Gordon announced with a wave of his hand. He picked up a small cafetiere shaped object, lighting it and gently wafting it around the nearest hive. Rosie saw smoke gently waft from its spout as Gordon spoke.

  ‘People have been collecting honey from bees for centuries. Though you may not realise it, there are several other products that can be made from honeycomb. Does anyone know what they are?’

  Rosie immediately thought of beeswax, but, not wanting to be teacher’s pet, decided to remain silent. Thankfully, so did everyone else.

  ‘Well, obviously, there’s beeswax,’ Gordon said. ‘Then there’s pollen, propolis, which is a resinous mixture that acts as a sealant for the hives, and finally Royal Jelly. There are various types of beehive, but we use the vertical stacker, which if my colleague will kindly demonstrate…’

  The suited person next to Rosie edged toward the hive and pulled a tray from the top of the hive. Rosie saw a large number of bees crawling over the tray.

  ‘You’ll note,’ Gordon said, ‘that the smoke calms the bees, making it much easier to harvest the honey. And of course it means we don’t get stung.’ He beckoned the group closer. ‘As you can see, there is a significant amount of honeycomb in this area. Now, all we need to do is…arghh!’ Gordon yelped and shook his hand so vigorously that his glove flew off.

  ‘Bloody thing stung me,’ he screamed, waving his gloveless right hand in the air before putting it under his left armpit, dropping the smoker in the process.

  Rosie and her group of onlookers took a step back as Gordon shook his hand again, which only seemed to irritate more bees. She watched as he tried swatting at the bees with his remaining glove, all the while turning the air blue. It seemed to Rosie that the colourful language only antagonised the swarm further, as they now seemed intent on attacking the swearing Gordon with impunity.

  ‘Mickey,’ Gordon shouted to who Rosie assumed must be his assistant. ‘Pick that bloody smoker up before, ow! ow! OW! Don’t these stupid things know their arses fall off if they sting me? Bugger,’ he shouted as he slapped at the air before losing his balance and falling into the beehive, knocking the structure to the floor.

  Mickey picked up the smoker in an attempt to calm the increasingly angry swarm. However the device was clearly no longer emitting smoke, leaving Mickey effectively waving a large tin can at hundreds of agitated bees.

  Rosie briefly considered going to the stricken beekeepers aid, but a tap on her shoulder and a thumb poking towards the changing hut dissuaded her of the idea.

  ‘Let’s go, they seem to have it under control,’ the voice said.

  Rosie wasn’t sure they had anything under control at all. In fact, from what she could see, Gordon had rolled himself into the foetal position and was quietly sobbing while Mickey was using a broken piece of the hive to swat at the swarm. Unfortunately, in his desire to keep the bees away, Mickey had twice smacked Gordon with his improvised fly swat, which provoked another round of swearing.

  Rosie felt a hand on shoulder pulling her back and she fell in behind her companions as they jogged back to the hut. On reaching the entrance, Rosie chanced a look over her shoulder and saw Mickey, now minus his gloves trying to drag Gordon away by his feet.

  ‘Well, that was quite fun,’ she said as she entered into the hut. Two of her companions were already out of their protective suits and off across the field in a desperate to escape, whilst the other stood, hands on hips and laughed.

  Rosie pulled her helmet off and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I’m going to need another shower after that.’

  The suited person straightened and looked at Rosie.

  ‘What?’ Rosie asked. ‘Yes, I know it’s a bad hair day. Ironically I used honey shampoo this morning. I think...’ she stopped mid-sentence. The remaining person had taken her helmet off.

  ‘Amy,’ Rosie mumbled.

  ‘Rosie.’

  *

  Rosie and Amy sat in the Sanctuary’s restaurant. It was almost the end of the lunch period and they had a secured table where they could talk without fear of being overheard.

  Over several cups of coffee, Rosie listened as Amy slowly told her story, from the night at Clive Oneway’s apartment, the subsequent police investigation, the FBI, finishing with Frances’s offer of sanctuary at the appropriately named Sanctuary.

  Amy finished talking and sighed. ‘Well, there you have it. That’s the reason I ran away. It’s the reason I’m here. It’s the reason I can’t go back. But what are you doing here? How did you find me?’

  ‘We’ve all been worried about you, Amy. James has been going out of his mind…’

  ‘I bet that didn’t take long…’ Amy smiled.

  Rosie smiled in return. ‘James hired a private detective and he led us here,’ Rosie explained.

  ‘Crikey. Where is he, James?’

  ‘He and Alan are staying in the village. Harry’s even come along too.’

  ‘Who’s Harry?’ Amy asked.

  ‘A friend of Alan and James, he’s lovely, the voice of reason.’ Rosie explained.

  Rosie continued. ‘We were all really worried, James thinks this place is hiding some kind of cult, so he’s probably planning the rescue as we speak.’

  Amy put her head in her hands and groaned. �
�It’s such a mess. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Where on earth did you get the idea that the FBI were involved?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘James told me. He said that Jayne had told him that the FBI had been called in because Oneway was “connected.”’

  ‘I’ve got no idea where he got that idea from. It’s true that Jayne was working on the investigation, but she’s never mentioned the FBI. I’m sure she would have told me if they were involved,’ Rosie laughed. ’She would have loved that.’

  ‘That’s what James said,’ Amy replied defensively.

  ‘Amy, I know that they’re investigating Oneway’s death, but as far as I’m aware they have no leads. Jayne would have told me, and she certainly would have told me if the police thought you were a suspect.’ Rosie paused and frowned. ‘You didn’t actually do anything did you? You didn’t push him over or anything?’

  ‘No, but I was there, and a man died. If I hadn’t been there, he would still be alive. It’s my fault.’

  ‘But you didn’t do anything,’ Rosie insisted.

  ‘The police think he was murdered.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘No, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to turn up and admit Oneway fell off his balcony because I threw a rubber bat at him. In any case, Frances has offered me the chance to stay here. I’m booked in under my maiden name so I can’t be traced.’

  ‘Fanny Sixpence,’ Rosie smiled.

  ‘Oh my God, James told you about her, didn’t he?’

  ‘That’s how we found you. You were heard on the phone at the coach station asking for her,’ Rosie said tactfully.

  ‘Frances made me see a counsellor and he said I was suffering a psychiatric condition and need lots of rest.’

  ‘You probably do, but I don’t think hiding away is going to do you any good in the long run.’